


Hope is a Four-letter Word

by FeyNWiddershins



Series: A Matter of Perspective [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Character Study, Delusions, Dissociative Identity Disorder (debatable), F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grief and Angst, Jefferson's Life-shaped Rollercoaster, Kidnapping and Coersion, Madness, Mania and Depression, Minor Violence, Psychological Manipulation, Regret, Repentance and Forgiveness, Schizophrenia (forced diagnosis), Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 82,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyNWiddershins/pseuds/FeyNWiddershins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Magical Worlds have not been kind to Jefferson, the Land Without Magic proves no better. That is, until Emma Swan brings a little with her into Storybrooke and with it a little hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sanity is Relative

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, Jefferson's in Storybrooke. Things start off dark, we all know how bad it gets eventually, but in my mind there are reasons for this. The thing is, we all know they get better. Look for as many mood swings in the story as Jefferson has himself.   
> Also, Mad Swan finally happens here, a little, but don't get too attached.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson finds Wonderland isn't the only place capable of driving a man mad.

For a moment, Jefferson thought he'd woken up from a very long nap. His head felt very full and he was relatively groggy. Then again, he couldn't have been sleeping. He was holding a spoon. He slipped that important piece of evidence into his pocket and looked around. Something had happened, even if it hadn't been one of his unexpected black-outs, because he was certainly not anywhere he knew. Twiddling his fingers, Jefferson scratched at his neck nervously and took in his surroundings.

 

He was inside all of a sudden, inside a very large, richly adorned building. Completely bewildered, he darted around the room in search of an exit. Last room of this size he'd been in had been a prison of sorts. On his way he passed a mirror. At first, he thought there was someone else there with him. He jumped away from his reflection with its sunken blue eyes and strange short hair. Someone had cut his hair, someone not Hope. That frightened and infuriated him. He needed to escape, to run. Instinct had him bolting down the hall and out the first door he saw in a matter of seconds.

 

The outdoors was strange. It was cold and dark and moist. He didn't know where he was and that just made him run harder. A voice inside of him screamed in outrage, but that wasn't unusual, so he ignored it and kept running. Woods lined the house he'd just escaped from and he fled into them like the refuge their likes had been all his life. These woods were different though, duller, more lifeless. The light didn't shine the same way, the air tasted thicker.

 

There is no magic here, a small, rational part of his mind observed, but Jefferson ignored that one as well and kept right on. Soon though, that inside voice grew louder, the one protesting, that is. The rational part was suddenly very quiet, because it was proven wrong. A very strong kind of magic bombarded Jefferson's senses out of nowhere and he fell hard on his ass. It was repellant, the sickly sweet smell of a border spell. It made him feel fuzzy, like his head was floating away from his body.

 

Wheeling backwards and holding his head on, he took off again laterally from the boundary and ran until he met a very odd sort of road, smooth and grey. He crossed it tentatively and kept on. He would find the end of this border spell. Except he wouldn't. His legs wearied and his lungs burned soon and he found himself sitting on a stump shivering and sweating at the same time.

  
Falling still, that voice inside became more persistent, more insistent. His mind reeled as of a sudden the voice was accompanied by a flood of images and sounds and feelings. Jefferson flailed and thrashed and pressed at his face as another person's life filled him from the inside out. He knew these woods, this imposter whimpering in his head. He knew that house. Feared the town line for its liminality into the unknown, not for its magic. Jefferson Milliner. That was his name, had his name but wasn't him. He had that house, lived in it taking care of Hope. Hope who was terminally ill.

 

Jefferson cringed and shook his head as if to jiggle the new thoughts and memories loose. That wasn't right. Hope was never sick. And yet, there she was in this man's memories, frail and helpless, bedridden and dependent upon him.

 

 _GET BACK TO THE HOUSE! HOPE NEEDS HER MEDICINE!_ Milliner screamed inside his head and Jefferson felt his legs twitching to respond.

 

"Hope?"

 

He felt warm and calm at the thought of her, of going back to that house and looking after her. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, just to go back and check if it was really her. He was on his feet again, hurrying back across the road, back through his foot trails in the woods. The woods surrounding Storybrooke, his home. Milliner's home.

 

The extra voice, the extra mind in his head made Jefferson twitchy. He felt at once clearer than he had in Wonderland and yet more mad. He couldn't decide what was him and what was Milliner within a few minutes and then, more bewilderingly, he couldn't know what was real or not. He'd have been incredibly paranoid in Wonderland if he hadn't been so manically deluded by a tantalizing yet unattainable hope of home (and Hope). The line between fantasy and reality had been questionable then, but he knew where he drew it. Here, he couldn't tell, not with that other man invading his thoughts. In Storybrooke. In the Land Without Magic Rumpelstiltskin had been trying to reach. No. There was no such thing as magic. Then, how did he get there?

 

Jefferson tore at his freshly cut hair on the porch. Was there or wasn't there magic? He couldn't decide. Another thing he couldn't decide was why he had the urge to throw a tea party. There was something there. Something painful and important. Milliner didn't like it, jerked away from it. Jefferson kept contemplating that as he stepped inside, fell into little habits that weren't his, wiping his feet on the rug, setting down a key ring that he hadn't had before.

 

"Jefferson? Is that you?"

 

Hope. That was her voice. Hope. He climbed the stairs two at a time and burst into the room he somehow knew to be theirs. "Hope. I'm sorry. I got confused."

 

There she was. Her hair like sunshine, big brown eyes full of wonderment, but she looked thin, she looked weak. He again, through another's memories, set up an IV line for her, swept her hair from her face. She patted his arm gently as he sat beside her.

 

"That's okay. It happens sometimes." The way she looked at him reminded him of someone.

 

"Grace," he whispered, it flickering back, the name of their daughter.

 

"What's that, my love?" Hope looked up at him in confusion.

 

"Grace. Where's Grace?"

 

"Who's Grace, Jefferson?"

 

He stood up from the bed, backing away. "Our daughter."

 

Hope looked resigned. "Is that what you're calling it this time? Jefferson, you know that we don't have a child. I can't, remember? I'm sick."

 

"No. No. We had a daughter, at home, in the Enchanted Forest. Grace, our darling, clever, beautiful Grace. Where is she?"

 

"I'm not playing this game today, Jefferson. I'm tired." Hope rolled onto her side to face away from him.

 

The pain in her face crushed him. It drew his thoughts, his complete attention. The rest didn't matter, it left him like a passing breeze. He sat down and cradled her to him, pausing to apologize about whatever he'd said. "I'm sorry… I… I don't know…"

 

"Shh, shh. That's alright. You came back to me. Don't forget to take your medication, my love. Over there." She pointed to a collection of bottles on the nightstand.

 

Jefferson picked them up and popped both open, again out of habit. The labels confused him. "'If delusions increase suddenly, consult your doctor.' 'Do not take more or less than the prescribed dose.' 'May cause drowsiness.' Hope, what are these for?"

 

Her face softened and she smiled. "Jefferson, for your condition. Remember?"

 

"No."

 

"The doctors said you might resist it. You were diagnosed with anxiety prone schizophrenia. You have to take the medication or they'll take you back to the hospital. You remember the hospital. You don't want to go back there."

 

Jefferson shook his head. He didn't want to back there, with its blank walls and no windows, false light shining all the time. He shivered and took the pills.

 

"Good job, my love."

 

The pills made Jefferson feel sluggish and empty. His head became very quiet, but not in a good way. There was this itching, at his neck that bothered him but the pills made him too weak to look at it, eventually made him not care. There was also an itching in his mind but he couldn't reach that to scratch, even if he had the willpower to try. And Hope wanted him to take those pills. What she wanted was most important to him. So, he trudged through this great house, going through the motions and taking care of Hope, emptied out by those pills. Again soon he found he was losing track of the days, of the time. It didn't matter, he had Hope to take care of, to keep him company through those indistinguishable days.

 

"Jefferson. Jefferson! Love, that's the doorbell."

 

He roused himself from the apathetic trance he'd fallen into and stumbled towards the front door. He often didn't hear things, would tune out and sit disinterested and indolent for hours on end, or until Hope needed him.

 

"Yes, sorry, I'm getting it."

 

It was the Mayor at the door.

 

"Oh, Ms. … Ms. …"  Jefferson blinked slowly, swaying in place as he fought to focus.

 

"Mills, Mr. Milliner. Mayor Mills."

 

She reminded him of someone when she smiled, he just couldn't care to figure out whom. Jefferson waved towards his sitting room and opened to the door wider.

 

"Yes, sorry, Madame Mayor, Mayor Mills. Please, come in."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Milliner. I was just stopping by to see how you were getting on. Two difficult diagnoses in one house can be a handful." She stepped inside behind him, looking around in interest at his home. "Quite the place you have here, though. Must make things easier."

 

"It's… it's big," Jefferson replied lamely and rubbed his face. "Can I offer you anything?"

  
"No, no thank you. This is a brief visit." The Mayor held out a small paper sack. "Dr. Whale mentioned you haven't been by to pick up prescriptions, and I was on my way out here anyway. Figured I'd drop them by as well. And--and you are taking them, aren't you? Because, if not… well, I'd hate to tell Dr. Whale that. Unfortunately, our small town can't have that sort of… instability on the loose. You understand."

 

Jefferson nodded and felt like his brain was sloshing in his skull. The Mayor tucked her chin to follow his eyes.

 

"Yes. I… I… have a hard time… with… concentrating when I'm on them. That's why I'm so…" he waved his hand in lieu of the word he just couldn't find.

 

The Mayor smiled again. "That's fine, Jefferson. May I call you Jefferson?"

 

He gave her another brain sloshing nod.

 

"Great. And… how's Hope?" She asked pointing up the stairs. "How's the chemo taking?"

 

"She's… tired a lot, but she manages to remember everything better than me. I suppose that's a good sign. Thank you for asking." Jefferson was literally fighting to keep his eyes open at this point.

 

"Still on the ball, then? That's good. I was sorry when I heard she was ill. Cancer is hard, uterine cancer is just _so_ sad. Especially for a young couple like you two, trying to have children." She tutted and Jefferson felt woozy at that last bit.

 

"Children?"

 

"Oh, was I not supposed to say? Mmm, I didn't know that was spoken in confidence. When I visited Hope in the hospital she said you'd been distraught over the news, that the two of you had been trying for kids, that it _broke your heart_."

 

Jefferson actually felt a pang of remorse at the Mayor's words. Yes. That was familiar.

 

"At any rate, I do hope she recovers soon. The school needs all the teachers they can get." The Mayor patted Jefferson on the shoulder and wrinkled her nose. "You know, I hate to be that person, but if you go into town, Jefferson, perhaps you should wear something… to cover that up." She pointed to his neck. "We worked very hard to keep your attempted suicide out of the news, Hope and I. It would be a shame to spoil it with a peek at the evidence."

 

Jefferson lifted a hand up to his scar. He didn't remember trying to hang himself, but that's what Hope told him it came from, said that it was his other self, the one he took the medication to control. "I will, Madame Mayor."

 

"Good, Jefferson. Alright, give Hope my best, and stay on that medicine. I'd hate to split you two up. Bye now." She slipped past Jefferson and down his steps with a jaunt in her step.

 

Watching her go, Jefferson almost felt another emotion, but lost it. He was tired from standing.

 

"Was that the Mayor?" Hope asked from behind her book when Jefferson returned to their room.

 

He sank into his arm chair and nodded. "Yeah-huh."

 

"Oh, how pleasant. I think maybe next time she rings I'll venture down the stairs for a quick chat."

 

"That'd be… nice. I'm sure." Jefferson was sliding out of active-thought again, finding that same spot on the wall inexplicably entrancing.

 

"Yes, it will be. Take your medicine."

 

He groped for the pills, choked them down. "She wants me to cover my scar in public."

 

"Yes, yes, that's probably for the best, dear. Best not to cause a stir, wouldn't want to upset the neighbors."

 

"If that's what you… want…" Jefferson couldn’t finish. The pills were quick.

 

A great deal of time seemed to pass after that before anything else happened, though it was difficult for Jefferson to tell that for sure. Time felt odd to him, like it passed too slowly, like a fly trapped in molasses, but in the way that a fly trapped in molasses fired from a gun would pass. It was also too quick for him to notice or keep track of while being slower than it should be. Beyond that, it was difficult to tell because nothing ever changed. Hope was always the same: weak and sick and tired, never any better, never any worse. The weather never varied, the clocks seemed to stand still. Jefferson never even needed to replace Hope's stock of medication. If it hadn't been for the fact that his steadily lessened, he would have thought that the days weren't passing. That was when he got around to actually thinking. His mental torpor was the other half of his uncertainty about time passing. If he didn't need to eat and give Hope her medicine and food, he would have put down roots in that armchair. He slept there, with the foot of it kicked up, ate there, stared at the wall there.

 

They didn't ever sleep in their actual bed. It was always immaculately made, as if in anticipation of Hope's recovery. For now, as she got no better or worse, she slept in her hospital bed and Jefferson in his chair. Some days they'd watch the television, though he had no attention span for it and Hope preferred reading. Most of the time they just were there, in silence. Once or twice, Jefferson pushed Hope into their sitting room and enjoyed the big windows, though only their light, no fresh air. They'd been sealed after his suicide attempt. He would stare out them, or at the things in the room wondering what they were doing there. He ventured to ask Hope once what they were and where they came from, why they were there. She had only laughed and called him silly.

 

The Mayor visited again, this time for a social call, and brought pie.

 

"Apple pie," she had informed him with a deep red grin.

 

Jefferson had escorted her up the stairs and pulled her up a chair beside Hope's bed. Hope wasn't feeling all that chatty that day, and wasn't interested in the pie. Although, even when she did talk, the Mayor didn't seem to be paying all that much attention. When her eyes wandered or she looked bored, Jefferson stood and straightened Hope's pillows or gave her some water to draw the Mayor's eye back to Hope. He didn't like that she didn't devote her full and undivided attention to Hope, sick as she was. In fact, the Mayor seemed more keen on talking to him, though she and he were not the old friends she and Hope claimed to be. Once Jefferson had eaten a slice of pie out of politeness on his and Hope's part, the Mayor decided to leave, gave some meeting as her excuse.

 

"I'll be by next week," she'd said at the door, "to pick up the pie plate. I do hope you both enjoy it."

 

Jefferson didn't really like the pie, but he found himself eating it because it was easier than preparing meals. His listlessness was so bad some days, he didn't eat at all, not even when Hope told him to. A maid came by and washed their clothes, cleaned the house. Literally all Jefferson had to do was feed them and he couldn't even do that dependably. Hope didn't seem to mind, she forgot too. He wrote that off on her illness, his on his broken mind. It didn't matter, nothing ever changed. He was stuck in a snow globe, living out one perpetual day of sameness.

 

After the Mayor picked up the pie plate, some days or weeks or months afterwards, Jefferson began to notice things again. He felt tired at times, and not just the dullness from his medicines but actual sleepiness. Soon followed hunger and thirst and boredom. The boredom was the worst. He started reading the newspapers that Hope had been leaving aside. Hope explained it as his body finally adjusting to the medications, and that might have been true, but Jefferson felt it was due to this drink catered to alertness he'd had delivered after his almost choked to death because he couldn't be bothered to finish chewing a bite at supper. It had been advertised on the radio and a flyer had shown up in their groceries and mail, so he'd tried it. Hope said it was hogwash, but Jefferson did feel 'detoxed' like the label claimed.

 

Their next visitor was someone new, or rather, someone who wasn't Mayor Mills.

 

"Mr. Gold," Jefferson greeted him with genuine surprise. As far as he knew, the pawnbroker never made house calls.

 

"Mr. Milliner, good morning. Feeling better?"

 

"Jefferson, please, call me Jefferson." He waved him inside and reached out to help with the several boxes Gold had in tow. "May I?"

 

"Sure, sure. They're for you anyway."

 

"For me?"

 

Mr. Gold nodded. "They are indeed. Two are yours, two are gifts. I figured it was about time I brought you your things back. You've paid me back threefold."

 

"I… have?"

 

"Yes, yes, I know you don't remember. It was before your… accident."

 

Jefferson reached defensively for his neck. It was exposed.

 

"Unfortunate, that." Gold jerked his chin at his throat. "It shouldn't have scarred so. Nooses don't usually scar, not even failing ones."

 

Gold let his words hang in the air and Jefferson shifted uncomfortably.

 

"Well, go ahead. Open them. I'm going to pop to the bathroom. Long walk on a hobbled foot. Is it…"

 

Jefferson pointed up the stairs. "The closest one is just up and to your right." He sat on the foyer's couch and weighed the boxes as Gold limped up the stairs. "My things…"

 

He was still contemplating opening them when Gold returned.

 

"They don't bite, I promise." The pawnbroker flipped the flaps of one open and Jefferson reached inside.

 

"What's this?" He picked out a heavy, thick metal ring.

 

"A wedding ring, I'd say."

 

"This is _my_ wedding ring," Jefferson said, spinning the simple gold band on his finger.

 

"Indeed, and this is _a_ wedding ring. Perhaps a family heirloom? I don't know, I don't always ask the story behind items. But that… that I know was the hat from your wedding day."

 

Jefferson felt his heart flutter as he lifted the rich, deep-blue, velvet top hat from the box. "It's… stunning," he murmured, running his hands over the silk band, over the patterning in the velvet.

 

Gold chuckled. "Indeed, very well made. Now, these next things I've needed to get rid of, I'm running out of space, and what with being stuck in this house, I thought you might like a hobby."

 

Jefferson leaned forward eagerly as Gold brought out two large telescopes. They were lovely.

 

"I figured, there were some things missing in this big, empty house and now you have interest on what I owed you." He pointed at the telescopes. "Does that sound even to you? Do we have a deal?"

 

Jefferson shivered as he shook Gold's hand. Something felt vaguely familiar in the situation. "A deal. Thank you."

 

"You're welcome, although none of this comes for free…"

 

Jefferson felt his body tense though he couldn't quite explain why.

 

"…I will require a chat and a scotch. That long walk can't be expected to be repeated so soon, I'm too crippled for that."

 

Jefferson sighed and led him to the morning room. "Scotch I have, but, could I interest you in some tea?"

 

Gold grinned in a not altogether pleasant manner and shook his head. "No, Mr. Milliner, it's probably best if I stayed away from the tea, thanks."

 

With tea service in hand for himself, and later Hope, Jefferson stopped by his sideboard. "Oh, you know what, Mr. Gold? I forgot to order more scotch this last time, I think. So sorry."

 

"Not to worry, not at all." Gold had a flask in hand, held it out. "Care to try a little kick in that tea of yours?"

 

Jefferson shrugged and held out his cup. He wasn't supposed to drink on his medication. He knew that. But, Hope hadn't reminded him to take it that morning, so he hadn't. He felt fine. He didn't really _need_ it, the voices weren't _that_ detrimental. In fact, he felt better when he could think without them, more like himself, clearer.

 

"There you go. It's got a bit of an extra something in it as well."

 

"Hmm?" Jefferson was too late, he'd already taken a sip. "Extra what?"

 

"Oh, nothing serious. Just for the nerves." Gold winked and put the flask away. "Anyway, so you're feeling better? Tried the detox solution from up the way, then?"

 

Jefferson nodded and gulped down his tea, trying to wash away the aftertaste from the scotch. "That was… strong."

 

"Yes, well, it does wonders even if it doesn't taste lovely. That's why I hide it in this." He swished the flask in his coat pocket and then sat back. "Are you liking it? I'm considering investing."

 

"I feel… more present with it. So, yes, I like it. Hope thinks it's nonsense, though." He chuckled and then cleared his throat. Something was off, his fingers were tingling, the colors of his room looked brighter. "Have you drugged me?"

 

"Oh, no, dearie. Quite the opposite. That took me quite a few trades to get off of Dr. Whale. How do you feel?"

 

Jefferson flailed as a thunderclap of thoughts resounded through him. _Grace! GRACE! GRACE! Where's Grace? Where am I? How long have I been here? Why is Rumpelstiltskin here? Where's his… skin problems? Where's Grace? Have I left Grace again?_ The thoughts continued along those lines, the back-up from months and months of Enchanted Forest Jefferson being silenced and sedated. He started panicking. He didn't know what was happening, what was real.

 

"Whoa, whoa, now. Calm down, hatter. You're fine." Gold/Rumpelstiltskin -- Jefferson didn't know which was real -- held out his hands, spoke slowly to him. "It is a lot. And it's all real, but I need you sane. Do you hear me?"

 

Jefferson was shaking. "Wha--what happened?"

 

"It was those… medicines Regina gave you. This will only last for a short while, so listen. You have to--" he paused and snapped when Jefferson's attention wandered off, taking in this house, his clothing. "Here. On me. You have to remember our deal. Do you remember our deal?"

 

"Uh… uh… something to do… something to do with… a birthday?" The lights were too bright, his mind was zinging, he couldn't keep up. It was too much at once, too dense and intense. "Grace's birthday! Where's Grace?"

 

"Focus, hatter. I protected her until her fifth birthday in exchange for your promise that you would do anything in your power to convince someone of something when the time came. Got it?"

 

"Yes. Convince under any circumstances. I remember. Where's Grace? Hope… Hope said that… something-- something's wrong." His personalities were at war over this point, one kicking the question forward, the other shutting it down.

 

Gold growled his frustration. "The damned pills in this place. Jefferson. Focus. Your daughter-- _your daughter_ you can't have. Do you hear me? Regina's orchestrated it so. That's why you should be happy to help me. If you help me, you'll have her back. In the meantime…" he waved at the telescopes, "you can watch."

 

"Watch?"

 

"Watch, but that is all."

 

"Watch?" Jefferson twitched, then jerked around in the sofa, clambering to get up and run out. "She's here? In Storybrooke? Grace?!"

 

"Stop yelling about Grace, Jefferson, there is no Grace. Take your medicine." Hope's voice floated from down the stairs.

 

He covered his face with his hands. Who was right? The Imp-made-businessman or his wife? He couldn't tell. It was too much, too much. He needed a pause, silence and stillness to concentrate. He felt he was forced to focus inward, to be quiet again.

 

"Ah. You're retreating. Hatter, you have to stop with these drugs. You have to clear yourself of them. Do you hear me? I need you sane… or as sane as you can be."

 

"Hatter? Hatter? Why… why are you calling me that?" Jefferson felt something click off, but he couldn't tell what. Things slowed down. He felt tired again. "Do I… do I know you?"

 

"Mr. Gold. I'm the pawnbroker. I brought the things… over there."

 

"Oh, right. Sorry, I get… fuzzy sometimes about details."

 

"Mm-hmm."

 

"Hope says that's why I need my medication. To be honest, I haven't taken it today," he whispered conspiratorially.

 

Gold frowned and collected up his cane. "Listen, Mr. Milliner. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Mrs. Milliner, Hope, your wife died several years ago."

 

"What?"

 

"She's gone."

 

Jefferson stepped back, glared at the pawnbroker. "She is not. She's right upstairs." The man wasn't making any sense. Was he playing him? Trying to confuse him?

 

"That's not real, Jefferson. That's what I've been trying to help you with. You have to get out of Regina's web. Hope's not here. You lost her."

 

A little spark lit up in the back of his head. That last bit rang true. He'd lost her. Lost her? Lost her where? How? A succession of flashes burned through his mind, blazing trails of searing pain.

 

 Shadows. Doors. Gone.

 

"NO!" A pressure built in his chest, behind his eyes. Heart was pulsing in his ears, racing. There was fear there. There was also rage. This was something he couldn't accept. This man and his wheedling tongue was lying. He had to be. Hope was upstairs. She wasn't gone, not yet. "You're wrong! Get out! Get out!"

 

He shoved Gold from the room, palms pounding against silk, echoing hard in the man's chest. Gold back pedaled from him, arms out as Jefferson shoved him again and again. He left the pawnbroker shaking his head on the porch, slammed the door in his face.

 

He was wrong. Hope was there with him. Somewhere. Jefferson tore through the house looking for her, overturning chairs, blasting past things in his way. She'd been there not ten minutes before, she'd been talking to him. Told him to take his medicine. Room after room he stormed through, left in a tumult like a force of nature. He would find her. But with each suffocating second another string in his resolve snapped. One room brought the blood-curdling sound of ripping, the shortness of breath from shock. The next, the cold darkness, the eking dread of that black, lightless arch. Finally, images of Hope slipping away, actually falling overpowered his hot rush to find her. With all the rooms found empty, his hopelessness was tangible and inarguable. Heaving in sobs, Jefferson shut down on the bottom the steps. Let himself collapse inwards. There was something familiar there, the drowning breathlessness of despair. He'd been through this before. He wanted to numb it. Always wanted to dull it away, with sleep, with work; anything to not dwell on it.

 

But before he could rush off to find berries or pills or whatever it was in this horrible place that made it all go away, he felt delicate fingertips in his hair.

  
"There, there, my love. There, there. What is it now?"

 

"Hope," he sobbed. His arms wrapped around her legs and found them solid, though slight, as she stood over him, trailing IV lines and all. "What are you doing out of bed? You had me worried sick."

 

"I fancied a bath, silly man."

 

"A bath," he sighed, "of course."

 

The Jefferson who stood up from those stairs was a different man. He trotted away calm and sedate without a trace of fear or rage or grief. He didn't even remember that he'd been crying, much less why. "Come on, back to bed. I'll make you some tea."


	2. Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insidious method of coercion is discovered. Jefferson susses some things out.

Jefferson couldn't explain to Hope when she asked where the telescopes had come from. They had just appeared one day, to his recollection. Everything else in the house belonged: he'd finally found his tuxedo's hat, that ring from his father, but those telescopes were out of place. In exchange for gaining those, he seemed to have lost his pills.

 

"Well, where did you have them last?"

 

"I don't know, or else I'd be looking there." He flipped over pillows and seat cushions, searching for them. He didn't want to go back to the hospital. "Got to find them."

 

"Calm down, my love. You'll find them, and if you don't, you can just call the hospital for more."

 

 _Or you could pretend to be taking them_ , a voice that sounded strangely of Hope also said in his head. _You're not yourself on them anyways. And you need to be sane. You need to find Grace._

 

Grace.

 

Jefferson gnashed his teeth together. It was confusing, too confusing without the medicine. He couldn't decide. Running down the stairs, he started searching there. Again, nowhere to be found. It was as if they'd been stolen, or disappeared like magic.

 

 _But there isn't magic in this place_. That was him, his other him in his head. He was more articulate than him-him, but didn't often make sense. Where could there really be magic? _We're not at home. Gold, the pawnbroker, who is also Rumpelstiltskin, took them, I bet._

 

Jefferson skidded to a halt. That was right, the pawnbroker who seemed oddly familiar. He'd been there earlier that day, had brought back his things and had given him the telescopes so he could watch Grace.

 

_Yes, my daughter Grace. Snap out of it! Grace is here in Storybrooke, we need to find her. Got to find her. Find her but not approach her, only watch her. That's what Rumpelstiltskin said._

 

"You're right…" he mumbled under his breath. That felt right. His head slowed, stopped swimming. He needed to find his daughter. He had a daughter. Brown eyes, sweet voice, long hair like summer grass, his chin, her mother's mannerisms, called him 'Papa'. His Grace. His dear, darling Grace whom he adored, whom he'd anguished over getting back to for so long now.

 

"Why did I forget that? How could I forget that?"

 

_The pills, the pills take it all away. We have to stop with them, he told us that, too._

 

"Yes… the pills. I don't like taking them anyway. They make me feel empty." Jefferson flexed his hands, felt the breath in his chest, the warmth behind it that felt like desire and ambition. It had been absent for so long he'd lost the name for it. Passion. He had to find his daughter, even if Hope disagreed. She must have been placed under the same spell as him. She was confused. That's when he knew what he had to do. That passion with a reachable goal gave him clarity, rang through him like a clear, sweet bell. No more empty desperation. This was purpose: hot, bracing intent.

 

He stood up straight, marched into the kitchen and collected some of the empty bottles he'd been keeping in a drawer for recycling. He would just pretend to take them.

 

_You can't talk to yourself. I can't talk to myself, rather. I have to stay calm, like I'm sedated._

 

He emptied a bunch of breath mints into the bottles, shook them until they rattled just the right way.

 

"There. Found 'em!"

 

_Good. I can do this. I can fool them and find Grace. Then, I'll fulfill my end of Gold's-- Rumpelstiltskin's deal and I'll get her back. Get her back. Get it to work._

 

He resisted the shivering twitch that came with those four obsessed-upon words. That voice was strong, it was a little unstable and intimidating but, most of all, it felt right. It perhaps wasn't a decision of which was real, but which was right. Both were real, felt real, but that one with its rage and passion _knew_ it was right.

 

_Nine months I've been in this fog, not anymore. I don't know where 'Milliner' came from or why, but I'm taking control again. There is no way I'm going to be victim of madness again, in any form. I've spent enough time as it is trapped in my own head, and I'm not going to have escaped Wonderland just to be a prisoner in this land as well._

 

Jefferson wanted to be him. He felt comfortable and confident assuming that role, natural. He took a deep breath and sunk into that persona, let Milliner step back to the sidelines, take the second fiddle. He could use that one's memories, his knowledge of this world, of his condition to play the part, but Jefferson was going to be the one that survived Wonderland on the inside, his strong self. It wouldn't be hard, to be one and act like the other. He had his fair share of experience being mad already. Now he just had to pretend as though that was being oppressed, not with the grief and self-loathing that had crippled him on occasion before, but by anti-psychotics and sedatives.

 

If Regina, who as Rumpelstiltskin had informed him was the orchestrator of this new curse, wanted Jefferson to be a drooling, compliant invalid, he would drool. He just wouldn't be entirely submissive, or at all incapacitated, not really. Just for appearances. No Queen was putting him in a dungeon again to tear at the walls and his hair as he slowly lost his mind. Once was quite enough. And now, with Grace in this world as well, Jefferson had no reason to oblige and allow his will to be stripped from him. He had every reason to fight.

 

But first, he had to watch. He wasn't one to rush head on. He plotted and snuck, worked behind curtains. He would do the same here, find out exactly what was happening and then quietly execute his plans. The less attention earned, the better. Besides, there were still many things neither The Hatter nor Milliner knew or could explain. How'd he'd gotten there, for one. How Grace and Hope were there and what they knew. Who else. Why Hope was confused and was the extra personality the reason, a symptom of something else. Why this house, why this world and why him. Was it permanent.

 

He chewed over all those considerations as he climbed back up the stairs, feet heavy and stumbling. His mind was racing faster and keener every minute he was off those pills but his body still had to act sluggish. Defiant on the inside, compliant without.

 

"Did you find them?" Hope asked over her magazine.

 

Jefferson shook the bottles. "I did."

 

"Where were they, then?"

 

"In the kitchen."

 

Hope smiled. "Good. Did you take them?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Good." After watching him return to his chair, she resumed reading her magazine.

 

It was strange, her singular focus on his medication. Now that he thought about it, Jefferson realized she hardly ever talked to him about anything else. He wanted to talk to her, ask how she was feeling, ask about her next doctor's appointment, if there ever would be one, about their life before they got sick, if she remembered home. He didn't, though. He couldn't. That would give away the game. Milliner didn't ask questions. He sat in his chair and stared at the wall.

 

After a while, Jefferson just couldn't do it anymore. He had so much to find out, to investigate that staring dumbly at a wall made his fingers twitch. He got up, on the pretense of getting Hope and himself some food.

 

"Going somewhere?"

 

"Food. Aren't you hungry?"

 

"No. I'm fine. Sit with me, please."

 

That was odd as well. Jefferson couldn't recall the last time he'd actually brought her food. Did she never eat? He stared at her in as disinterested a way as he could make his confusion look and then shook his head.

 

"Not now, I'm hungry."

 

Hope shrugged a shoulder and then hid again behind her magazine. "Fine. I'll just wait here, alone."

 

That was extremely passive aggressive, Jefferson thought. No wonder he'd found himself in that chair again and again. Instead, he walked over to the window and drew back the drapes.

 

"What are you doing?!"

 

"Opening the curtains."

 

"Why?"

 

"You like the outdoors. You prefer them."

 

Hope pursed her lips but then nodded. "Fine. Just don't open the window. I don't want to be cold."

 

"I couldn't if I wanted to," he muttered under his breath as he left. "They've been sealed shut."

 

Something was wrong with Hope. This new life had changed her, made her bitter and more than controlling. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. Downstairs, as quietly as he could, he unpacked the telescopes, hauled them back upstairs and into his studio. In the corner of the house he could see almost everything from there. The rest was just woods. Milliner knew the town, that there was a main road with shops and local businesses, that homes ringed the town center out to the woods. But he didn't really know much beyond that, he never left his house except to go to the hospital or the occasional emergency grocery run.

 

At that time of the day, Jefferson could see people out on the streets, going about their business. He recognized some of them, but Milliner didn't, which was unsettling. They were people from his lands.

 

So, this was not just a small curse. Jefferson bit his lip and kept looking, feeling more and more anxious. There were some important people there, even beyond Rumpelstiltskin. He recognized the princess, Snow White, in the school yard looking innocuously like a schoolteacher. The yard was filled with children, running and jumping. None of them seemed aware that they were playing host to a bunch of other-world visitors. Nor did those visitors.

 

He caught sight of a child he almost recognized, one he'd known long ago though he couldn't put his finger on from where or when. He was maybe older than Jefferson remembered but there was something there with his smile and the girl who kept trailing him around that he found familiar. He kept following the path of those two, trying to make the connection but stopped dead when a streak of amber curls flashed by them. He scrambled to find where she'd gone, the girl with the long sandy hair, pressing his eye so hard to the telescope that he saw spots.

 

There. He found her again, playing dolls with some other girls. He wished she would turn around. From this angle, he would swear that was Grace, with those curls, but he needed to see her face to be sure. For twenty minutes he stood there and waited for her to look back. When she finally did he laughed. It was her. Undoubtedly that was his daughter Grace. She was so big, older than when he'd last saw her, though not too much. He couldn't remember why he'd left her, just that he regretted it. It didn't matter now, though. That was her.

 

Jefferson watched until the children went back inside and then he waited patiently until school let out. The flood of children was hard to filter through, but he was determined and eventually he found her again heading for a bus. He followed that bus, heart leaping as it drove in his direction. Maybe she had remembered, like he had. Maybe she was coming to him.

 

She wasn't, though. She was heading for a house next door. Close, so close. On her bag he could read 'Paige' stitched across the top. He frowned at that and then cringed as she ran into a woman's legs, took her hand and hopped inside the house. Jefferson couldn't see everything she was doing, but he found her soon enough. She had a room, a bright colorful room filled with toys and pictures. That name 'Paige' covered everything.

 

 _She doesn't know who she is either_. Something inside of him ached. How unfair. Now that he'd found her, he couldn't approach her. She didn't know she was Grace, probably wouldn't even know who he was. Jefferson flung away the telescope, stomped to the other side of the room. How pointless, how cruel to be so close and still unable to have her! Rumpelstiltskin had warned him: watch but that was all. That didn't make it any better. He should have told him why, avoid getting his hopes crushed. His hands shook, fingers twitched. He was yearning to do something about it, to do anything beyond sit in this house uselessly.

 

There had to be something. Something he could do would resolve this. He just needed to figure out what. Maybe Hope would know. That got him excited again. Jefferson could prove to her that they did have a child, shake her out of this confusion.

 

"Hope!" He was too excited when he burst into their room. She narrowed her eyes at him and then pointed to the medicine bottles.

 

"Take your pills, Jefferson. You're agitated."

 

He waved a hand in disregard at the pills. "I don't need them, I'm not agitated. I found something."

 

"Jefferson…" she warned.

 

"Look, come here. You'll believe me when you see." He unplugged her lines and pushed her bed out the door, down the hall, and into his studio.

 

"What have you been doing, Jefferson?"

 

"Just watching. Okay, look."

 

Hope peered through the telescope as instructed. "Yes. It's a little girl. This is creepy, Jefferson. You're starting to worry me. What do you want me to see?"

 

He scoffed. Yanking away the telescope, he checked the sights. It was still Grace, there in her bedroom drawing. He motioned for her to look again. "It's her."

 

"Her who? Have you done something to this little girl? Did you leave the house again?"

 

"No! No, this is Grace. You remember Grace. She's our daughter, don't you see?"

 

Hope's face was hard when she turned back to him. "Jefferson, take me back to our room. I'm tired of this game."

 

"Game?! It's not a game. That is our daughter, your child I helped you to deliver. You don't remember her? The way she smiled and called you 'Mama' and me 'Papa?' Her hair smelled like the jasmine you washed it with. She always dressed herself, even when she was too young to do up the buttons. You don't remember that?"

 

She wasn't even looking at him anymore. "You need to take your pills, Jefferson. This delusion has gone far enough. I'm worried about you. That little girl's name is not even Grace. You can see it everywhere, it's Paige. This is just sad now. Sad and very disturbing, watching a child. Take me back."

 

Jefferson stepped away. What was wrong with her? That should have been enough proof, the sight of Grace should have been enough. Her name had woken him. "Hope. Hope, I don't know what else to do to prove it to you. That's her. That's our dear Grace."

 

"We don't have a daughter, Jefferson!" Hope snapped back. "We've never had a child! This is some sick joke and I don't think it's cute or funny anymore! I'm going to call the hospital!"

 

"What is wrong with you?" Jefferson asked, wheeling. Hope didn't yell at him, not like that. She snapped when she was teased or hurt, but not when he was serious, not like that. "Is it your medicine?"

 

"My medicine, Jefferson? Mine? You're the one who's insane. You're the one making up children we've never had. There's nothing wrong with me. God! How tired I am of babying you through this. 'Where's Grace?' 'Why are we here?' 'Who am I?' Does it never end?! Will I have no rest!? Just shut up!"

 

Jefferson blinked down at the woman in that hospital bed. Whoever she was, she was not his Hope. "Who are you?"

 

She laughed. "Here we go again. 'Who are you?'" She mocked and then rolled her eyes. "I'm Hope, your wife. We're at home. You're Jefferson. Now take me back to my room. I hate this studio."

 

"No." It felt as if an alarm was peeling in his head. This was beyond wrong. It felt like a trick. "No, you don't act like this."

 

"Act like what, Jefferson? Like someone who's fed up with your delusional fantasies? Hmm? Like I'm tired of being the sane one here? I have half a mind to just go back into hospital care and let the sanitarium take care of you."

 

"I'm not insane."

 

"Oh, really? So, you just jabber to yourself about magic and made up worlds for the fun of it? To irritate me? You forget what day of the week it is and quit eating half way through a mouthful because it's funny?"

 

"No. Those pills make me do that. They make everything very dull." Milliner was pulling against him now, fighting back. He became fidgety when Hope was upset, when she was yelling he tried to shut everything down. Jefferson felt his ears starting to ring, the air become closer like the walls were closing in. Milliner was winning.

 

"Dull, huh? No. They keep you from killing yourself! From jumping off the stairs or out a window. How do you think you got that scar?"

 

Jefferson scratched at his neck. It sure wasn't from something like that. "I had my head cut off!"

 

Hope cackled. "Yeah! That makes a lot of sense! You would _absolutely_ be living if you'd been decapitated! Good show, Jefferson! You're undoubtedly sane, logic's entirely on your side."

 

"Hanging doesn't leave a scar like this, not all the way around," Jefferson said, low and calm. "Gold was right about that."

 

"Oh, the pawnbroker. Yes, he would have extensive knowledge of scars. Come on, Jefferson. Wake up!"

 

"I am awake. I think I see it now." He stepped forward, reached for the collar of her sweater.

 

"What are you doing?" She slapped at his hand, but couldn't stop him. It was like her hands passed right through him. "Stop that!"

 

Jefferson moved the fabric aside, found only a smooth stretch of unblemished skin. "I see. You're not real."

 

Hope physically flickered as he moved away, like he was blinking quickly but she was the only part that left his sight when his eyes closed.

 

"What? Oh, now I'm not real. Okay. That's fine."

 

He felt tears welling in his eyes. She wasn't real. He'd known that somewhere but had denied it. She couldn't be real, and not only because this was not the way his sweet Hope behaved. A darker, more absolute reason. She was already gone. No lingering disease wasting her away, no. Jefferson had lost her in the blink of an eye. A trip and a fall and she was gone. Lost.

 

"I don't have to be real, but I am going to call the hospital. If you don't take your pills I'm calling them to have you collected. You can't take care of yourself and I'm not well enough to do it for you, and I'm tired of trying anyways. I'll do it."

 

Jefferson wiped his face and sighed, looking at the bed as that Hope faded away to nothing. "Yes, do try that. You're not real," he whispered to the empty sheets.

 

The influx of memories was slower this time. They didn't clap him about the head like they had after Rumpelstiltskin's serum. They trickled in, falling into place, explaining things. Jefferson accepted them as they came and felt Milliner collapsing in on himself, growing even crazier and more suicidal. That Hope had been the thing keeping him in his role, his sedated, cooperative role. Without that delusion, he was empty and frenzied. That wasn't the truth for Jefferson. Hope gave him purpose when she was alive, when he lost her she made him try even harder. She would be his warning, his inspiration, his conscience again, not his warden. He could keep his memory of her pure.

 

That did not mean, however, that he was not stricken with some fresh desolation and grief. Losing her still hurt, but in a way it was a relief. He felt a lessening of the anxiety about what was wrong with her. There was no more nagging in his soul because she felt off. Hope was still the same as she'd always been, safe and stored away unspoiled in his memories. What he had to deal with now, was the repercussions of the hole her absence left in his mind.

 

He had no one to talk to now. Was completely alone yet again. What was more, Milliner was nigh on uncontrollable in his agony. He was louder and angrier, and honestly, without those drugs, absolutely batshit mad. There were moments when Jefferson had to stop what he was doing, anything he was doing, and just cover his ears, trying to block out his ramblings. Milliner was most mulish and intractable about the subject of Grace. He made Jefferson's attempts to find out what was going on with his daughter miserable and usually ineffective. Made Jefferson feel like he was mad again.

 

The thing was, he wasn't. He was focused and clear and very sane. He just had another man's memories and personality swimming around in his head. If that made him mad, then so be it, but it wasn't his fault. Sometimes it made him irritable, sometimes a little confused. Parsing realities was a tricky business, but Jefferson had been to his share of realities, had learned to suss them apart. The differences were key, the similarities a false friend. So, instead he attended to what he could do in the here and now. Luckily, unlike the Hatter or Milliner, Jefferson had something in the here and now to concentrate on, to obsess over, Grace. He didn't question her existence after a time like he had in Wonderland and his goal wasn't impossible, just delicately achieved. That staved off the despondency and rashness that both the Hatter and Milliner suffered from. If he could just get the latter to shut up. The Hatter, Jefferson in Wonderland, was one thing, a memory, a dark past. He only sometimes cropped back up, spouting harmless, nonsensical phrases, yearning to make hats, to get it to work. Milliner, on the other hand was constant. He was a plague, a living, psychotic plague.

 

Jefferson spent most of his time in the studio, with the telescopes. He watched and watched and watched. And not only Grace. He soaked in the whole town, their habits, their quirks. After a week he had a pretty firm schedule, a good idea of people's movements. He knew Regina was different, so was Rumpelstiltskin. The two operated outside the strange rote routine of the rest of Storybrooke. Rumpelstiltskin looked different, sounded different, but he'd been himself when he spoke to Jefferson, for just a brief moment had acted like the Imp. That meant that he was playing a part, like Jefferson had decided to. If he was pretending, that meant that it was assumed that his role was supposed to be real. Real to all appearances, presumably for Regina. She'd acted her part without breaking character, the Mayor. She was the one the show was for. She was in charge.

 

The idea of her made Jefferson's blood boil, but he couldn't remember why. Something was still repressed there. Her name was familiar, she had something to do with Wonderland but he couldn't spot it. She'd been queen, maybe. Every time Jefferson considered Gold/Rumpelstiltskin a little something flashed here or there. He wasn't from Wonderland, neither was Regina nor several people he recognized. Where they were from was the question. Where ever that was, it was Jefferson's home. He needed to remember.

 

 _Just one hat is all it takes to get me home to my dear Grace!_ The Hatter piped back up randomly. Stirred Milliner into a firestorm. He was incoherent now, screaming syllables but never words. Jefferson pushed away from the window and buried his head in his hands.

 

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" He bellowed but they just roared back, canting and screeching. The constant noise left him tired, his eyes ached, shoulder sagged. "That's it! If you won't shut yourselves up, I'll shut you up!"

 

 _Up, up, up! No doors to open that we can't shut! Up, up, up!_ The Hatter threw a flurry of bright colors and plans for hats, then flashed the shadow door, out of spite. Milliner responded, showing Jefferson's inner eye a montage of his past, dark suicidal thoughts and attempts, the pain and pining for Hope, all accompanied with his soundtrack of wailing. It pushed Jefferson over the edge.

 

"That's it! I'm done with you! I can't deal with it. You won't let me sleep, or eat, or work! Wonderland had better conditions that this!" A giggle rattled through his head and he swatted at the air in frustration. "At least I had those toxic berries to shut things away when I couldn't take it anymore."

 

He paused and both voices stuttered.

 

 _Dreamberries? Pills?_ They both asked.

 

Jefferson knew what he had to do. He needed help. Actual help. Clinical help from the doctor.


	3. Padded Walls and Straight Jackets Only Cage Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his mind unleashed Jefferson discovers more about his newest prison, even returning to old habits and acquaintances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning: there are mild suicidal themes in this chapter.

Jefferson had been avoiding the mirrors in his house. For a few days he couldn't really decide why. As he stood in front of the one in his closet he remembered. That scar unsettled him. His hair made him feel guilty. His clothes even worse. The way that Jefferson looked didn't reflect how he felt, he looked like Milliner: hair had been clipped close to the scalp to keep him from tearing it out, now it was longer but utterly unkempt. His clothes were dirty, tattered, and ill-fitting. He didn't feel like himself like that. Even if he was going to lock himself away, he wanted to be himself when he did that. Ignoring the voices for just a few more minutes, he showered and actually took the time to get dressed again.

 

The clothing in the closet was from this world, but there were vaguely familiar things. At one point, apparently, Milliner and he had shared tastes. Putting on the most recognizable clothes, a shirt with buttons tailored closer but still normal enough in its intricate pattern, a pair of trousers perhaps the most undifferent, a waistcoat even, Jefferson dressed slowly, carefully with the precision he felt was habitual. Finally he came to the neckties. The ones Milliner had wouldn't do, wouldn't cover the scar. He reached for a scarf instead, tied it around, tucked it in, made it work. After pushing his hair back and out of his eyes, like Hope would have liked, he nodded. That was good. That was Jefferson looking at him. Not the Hatter. Not Milliner. Just Jefferson.

 

As he turned to step out of the closet, his eye caught something. It was stowed away in a plastic cover but it sent his mind reeling. He knew it. It was his coat, or one very like it. There were a few differences, changes in fabric to make it fit this world, but it was _his_ coat. It was such a part of his memories that he smelled damp leaves and sage when he put his hand through the first arm. That was a non-choice, he had to wear it. He buttoned it and almost shut the voices up entirely.

 

The Hatter didn't make a reappearance after that. Milliner, however, picked right back up again as Jefferson pulled on some gloves and headed for the front door. Milliner didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay inside and wait for his delusion to resurrect Hope. That wasn't happening. He keened and sobbed and made Jefferson's temples pound with a headache as he marched outside and down the drive.

 

It was easy getting into town. Jefferson had stared so hard at it for days on end, he knew its paths, its ebb and flow of traffic. Besides, people seemed so caught up in their own business, they hardly paid him any mind. That was for the best too, because Jefferson was fairly sure he looked daunting. Milliner made him scowl in concentration so he could continue putting one foot in front of the other without beating his own head in. That would attract attention for sure. Here and there someone would notice him, offer a neighborly smile and Jefferson would try to return it which just made his head swim.

 

The hospital wasn't far when Milliner went off the bat-shit crazy deep end. He hated the hospital, had been practically tortured there. Faceless people with shots and restraints popped off in his head and left Jefferson shaking. He kept right on, though, determined to find something or someone who could help him control Milliner. Through the front doors, he shut down. The panic and utter terror overcame that half and left Jefferson with some peace.

 

"Thank god," he muttered and headed for the reception desk. The nurse working it didn't seem to notice him. He had to ring the bell. "Excuse me?"

 

"Oh, Mr. Milliner. Yes. May I help you?" She didn't want to help him, that was for sure.

 

"Could I see Dr. Whale?"

 

The nurse looked him over, clearly finding his appearance at odds with what she expected of him. "Of course. The doctor's in consultation at the moment. Would you like to wait while I alert him to your request?" She pointed to a nearby waiting room.

 

"I'll wait here, thanks." Jefferson folded his arms over the counter and stared at the nurse until she bustled away. He peered around, taking note of the desk, her coffee, her ID badge. Jefferson snorted. She was so frazzled by him she'd left her key to the hospital. Milliner must be considered an absolute raving lunatic by these people. Then he caught sight of her clipboard. Dr. Whale's schedule was on top, his information and photograph at the top of the page. Jefferson knew Dr. Whale.

 

"No fucking way," he whispered, glancing around him. There was no way he was going to get psychiatric help from Victor Frankenstein, even if he thought he was a real doctor and not a mad scientist. "Fuck no." Milliner's language habit slipped in from the shock of seeing another someone Jefferson recognized and couldn't explain how. The urge to run was strong, both from Milliner and the Hatter who was suddenly bouncing around blathering about hearts and heads. Jefferson, though, wanted to know if there was someone else to help him there, other places to get what he needed.

 

There was one way to find out. He leaned over and quickly snatched up the nurse's ID card before skulking off towards the stairs. The ID card worked and Jefferson was soon jogging quickly down into the basement, the direction Milliner wanted him to go the least. As he went, he wondered how he knew the doctor. How he knew that he didn't want that man messing with his mind, that somehow he had found out he wasn't qualified in that arena already. The Hatter chittered, but Jefferson blew him off. He was unreliable. But the Hatter pushed back.

 

_Hope. He couldn't help Hope. Black and white and black and white. Hearts and Heads are not the same. He couldn't help Hope. The hat for a heart and no help with the head._

 

Jefferson stumbled, hitting the bottom of the stairs with a thump. His hat. His magic hat. Frankenstein was nothing but trouble. Came through the magic hat for a heart and got Jefferson into trouble with Regina the first time. The second time he put Jefferson on her list again and neither time helped anyone.

 

That realization was the first ray of dawn. As Jefferson crept down the mental ward's sullen, dark halls, the rest of the Enchanted Forest rose out of the murk of his mind like the sun, illuminating everything brighter and crisper than any pale moonlight of Milliner's life, than the whimsical twinkling of the Hatter's starlight. His life, his first and true life with Hope and Grace outshone it all, dawned on him and brought everything else out in stark comparison.

 

He didn't need to be there, in a padded cell wearing a straightjacket like that girl there. Jefferson paused, jogged back a few steps to peek back into the cell he'd just passed. That wasn't just some girl. That was Rumpelstiltskin's housekeeper, the one with the chipped cup. She had a name. What was it? Something short. Belle! Jefferson snapped and then glanced around him. No one had noticed, but he had to keep his enthusiasm at remembering things quieter. What in the world was this girl doing in there? The Imp had thought her gone, or at least he seemed aggrieved over her absence. And she hadn't seemed insane.

 

Jefferson shuddered. No. This was just another prison of Regina's. Yes, Regina the same evil queen as before was locking people up she found threatening. What was new? He didn't need to be here at all. Nothing to do with her. This was her fault. Her fault.

 

That dawning realization was not all positive. There were things there he would rather have forgotten. One of them was Regina's true self. She was the reason he'd lost Grace. He could blame no one but himself for the loss of Hope but undeniably Regina was behind taking his daughter away from him, or rather him from his daughter. That left him feeling hot and shaking and out of control, but for a different reason. Rage. He would find a way to get away from her, to get his Grace back and get the two of them away from Regina.

 

The other problem was, with that whole life returned, his head was fuller, packed full in fact, and most of it just made him heavy. Heavy with regret and longing and hate. That made the threads of his sanity creak. He had to focus, keep in line or he'd end up right back where he'd found himself in Wonderland, the Hatter deluded by denial and repressed truths.

 

Jefferson was less discreet leaving town. At least a few people noticed him, mostly because he was running. He didn't need these people he knew recognizing him. He needed them oblivious as they were and Regina relaxed in her ignorance of his realizations. He could kill her much more easily if she didn't know he was coming, if she still thought he was a shut-in nutcase. Of course, in his excitement and anxiety Milliner took the opportunity to crop back up and start yammering. That caused the other source of attention, that he started talking to himself.

 

"For fuck's sake!" Profanity didn't help.

 

"Shut up!" He hissed, darting down another alley and trying to head back towards the woods. "Oh, Hope, please help me with this," he prayed in his old way. "Please just…" he trailed off. The jabber had ceased, Milliner was quelled. In his place was a warm contentment. Hope. All the idiot wanted was Hope. If Jefferson acted like she was still around, talked to her like he just had out of habit, he would shut up finally.

 

Jefferson cataloged that for later and picked up the pace. He wanted to get out of sight before the maniac started up again. Unfortunately, all that effort seemed for naught. He hadn't but just gotten inside when he heard the gravel crunch out front, found a car pulling into his drive.

 

"Hope, forgive me for what I may do." Jefferson meant what he'd said, but he also wanted Milliner mollified while he dealt with the dilemma marching up his stairs in heels and a skirt suit, looking not all that unalike her Enchanted Forest self.

 

Jefferson answered the door after she rang the bell seven times. She could wait while he got a glass of water and hung up his coat.

 

"Madame Mayor," he purred. He couldn't help himself from being openly resentful as the door swung wide. So much for his ploy to pretend insanity.

 

Regina seemed appropriately surprised. Her eyes widened a little as she looked him over. "Well, Jefferson. Welcome to Storybrooke."

 

"Your Majesty," he clipped back, waved her inside. "Please, come in."

 

"This explains things, I suppose. I was going to ask you what you were doing galloping around town, but I suppose that's actually in character for you, isn't it? You like to travel."

 

Jefferson shrugged. "I had some things to look into. Speaking of…" he pressed his hands into his pockets, swiveled on one foot. "What are you doing with the Imp's housekeeper?"

 

"Hmm. Looking for more medication were you? Maybe a new _jacket,_ Jefferson?"

 

He shook his head.

 

"Well, maybe you should be. Where _is_ your medication?"

 

"Oh, I'm not taking that anymore. Turns out I don't need it. I'm not clinically insane, or deluded, or schizophrenic like you would have me believe. No… I just _actually_ have two lives in my head. Fun."

 

"Maybe you'd like me to _make_ you take it," she said, low and threateningly.

 

"No, I don't think so, and I don't think you could. There's no magic here," he shrugged his lips, feigning disappointment. "No magic and without magic, you just have a bunch of words and no power, Regina. So, no. I won't be taking those anymore and you won't do anything about it."

 

Jefferson smiled even more broadly as her lips twitched into a snarl.

 

"You keep your mouth shut or I will foment such a riot against the town's madman that they'll throw you into the looney bin for me. I won't even have to lift a finger. Then you can find out what I'm doing with little Belle."

 

"You keep your mouth shut and I'll keep mine. I do wonder what the Dark One would do if he found out she was down there."

 

He'd won that match. Regina pursed her lips and then turned smartly away. Jefferson caught her by the arm, though. He wasn't finished. "Please, let me beg your audience further," he winced as she flicked a wrist at him, but no fire came. He continued, "why did you do this? What's in it for you to have me here like this? To have any of these people here?"

 

The thought of Grace floated to the front of his mind, made him flinch slightly as Regina glared at him. She noticed it, simpered.

 

"You know, I tried to help. Your psyche was broken, I knew it would have a hard time assimilating to a new life. Word travels far at home. _The Mad Hatter,_ it has a nice ring to it," she chuckled. "In any case, I did what I could to make you suitable to this place, gave you those pills, even created a lovely little fantasy with your Hope back."

 

His grip tightened on her arm, Jefferson felt her flinch slightly. Her words were cold when she finished speaking, "you're the one who ruined it. All you had to do was take the pills and stay inside with your dying wife."

 

"My sick wife, the one that wasn't real and didn't believe a word I said, not even about our daughter? Why would I ever want that?"

 

"You still should suffer for what you did!" She snapped, yanked her arm free. "But… this is better isn't it?" Regina looked him over, replaced her simper. "Much better."

 

"This is worse, so much worse! We're both in here, Milliner and me, neither happy."

 

_"Good."_

 

Jefferson slammed the door shut to keep her from leaving. He was verging on the edge of his control. "Is Grace like this?" It was nearly a yell.

 

Regina sneered up at him, unfazed by his tone or the invasion of her space. "No." The word dripped with poison. "She doesn't even know you exist, which… is _much_ kinder, don't you think? Who _wants_ to feel abandoned by their loved ones?"

 

She chuckled as he staggered backwards, crossed her arms as he took his head in his hands. "Not so sane as you would have me think, are you, _Mad_ Hatter?"

 

"Why?" It was the only word he could fathom.

 

Regina tilted her head to the side and leaned over to look dead into his eyes. "Why couldn't you just let me have Daniel back?" That question hung in the air for a beat. "Now you know how it feels to be torn in two. Revenge is sweet."

 

He didn't stop her from leaving after that, couldn't muster himself to. It all came back to him, to his horrible choices. After the door had snapped shut and the gravel crunching under tire was just an echo, Jefferson sank to the stairs, sat leaning against their railing. He felt despondent, a not unusual feeling for him, as it turned out, in any of his lives.

 

There was exactly one thing that without fail made him feel better at times like these. Hope.

 

"If you are somewhere where you can see me, I bet you're incredibly disappointed. I don't know what it is, but… I ruin everything I touch. No matter what state I'm in. The only time I didn't was when you were with me, Hope. And then I managed to ruin that, too. Now I'm stuck, again, without my hat, without you, without Grace. This land has no magic. I can't run away without my hat. Even if I had it, which I don't, it wouldn't work. A hat without magic is just a hat. I'm going to go mad again. I can feel it."

 

Jefferson rubbed the heel of his palm over his eyes, wiped away the tears.

 

"I don't want to, I don't want to leave Grace, but she doesn't know who I am here. Maybe… maybe I should just come find you."  
  
Everything was completely silent. The house, his mind. Nothing rang or twittered or flinched. The escape would be a permanent one, no use for sedatives or berries there. It was almost tempting. A bit of peace, finally. Jefferson was thumbing his scar, considering reopening it when a little corner of his mind came alive and reacted to that.

 

 _What if?_ What if Regina's spell ended? What if Grace woke up and remembered who she was and who he was? What would she do when she found out her father took the coward's path and killed himself instead of fighting for her? What would Hope have done if she knew he was considering that?

 

Jefferson gasped and shook his head. "No. No, I can't. You would resent me, even if I did find you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he chanted his apologies to the echoing hall until he stopped shaking. "I'm sorry, Hope. I don't know what to do here. I'm lost. I need you, but you're not here. I… I have nothing."

 

The Hatter scoffed at that. _I had nothing. You have Grace. Do something about Grace._

  
He was right. The situation was a bad one, but it wasn't impossible to better. He could still see her, every day in fact. He could still work to find a way to change things. He wasn't entirely alone. There were powerful people there besides Regina, allies he still had.

 

"I know you didn't like or trust him, Hope, but I'm going to find Rumpelstiltskin. He may still be able to help, and if not directly, maybe at least answer some questions." He stood up and gathered his coat from the hall closet. "I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon, but not today. Promise."

 

* * *

 

 

It was worryingly simple to break into Mr. Gold's house. Jefferson could have easily cornered Rumpelstiltskin in his shop, but popping in on him in his study seemed much more appropriate. He was sitting in Gold's desk chair when the front door squeaked open. Rumpelstiltskin had noticed the lock had been jimmied, encountered Jefferson with a gun aimed.

 

"Whoa, whoa. It's just me." Jefferson grinned with his hands in the air. "Although, if you feel like killing me, I won't argue. Takes things out of my hands."

 

Rumpelstiltskin dropped his arm, rolled his eyes. "Just like old times, eh, hatter?"

 

"Indeed. Except then, no letter openers were required. Just a flick of the wrist." He mimed tossing his hat and then sat back. "So, you're really a human being."

 

"And you're no longer insane. We can both state the obvious." Dropping his walking stick, he too sat down, across from Jefferson.

 

"Eh… I wouldn't be so quick to assume that. I've still got voices rattling around in here."

 

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled and looked Jefferson over. "To me, hatter, you're a far cry from the pitiful mess of a man I found several weeks ago. No, this is as sane as people in this town get. What do you want?"

 

"Do you have another person in there, too?"

 

"Focus, now. Why have you broken into my home? You do know there are consequences for your actions just the same as there were in the Forest, except here… there's no magic to save you." He sighed and looked away. "Hence my cane and my firearm," he added as an afterthought.

 

"I've got some questions and I figured you didn't need a raving lunatic driving business from your store by whispering about magic hats and evil queens."

 

"Aye, you assumed correctly. You've remembered everything, then?"

 

"And it almost destroyed me."

 

"Does Regina know?"

 

"Yes."

 

 Rumpelstiltskin groaned. "That's no good. It would have been better she didn't."

 

"Well, it's hard to play like a witless invalid with your fuming with rage."

 

"Mmm, she did play you the fool, didn't she? And situated you poorly here, it's almost as if she wanted an enemy of you." He took the pen Jefferson was twiddling away and put it down. "I suppose you want your revenge. I can't do that here, not… easily."

 

"That's actually not why I'm here. I would love to wring the life from her neck, yes, but first, I want my daughter."

 

"The lass is acculturated here, she thinks she's just a little girl from Maine with a daddy and mommy who love her. What would you do with her?"

 

Jefferson snarled, "she's my daughter. She belongs with me."

 

"Perhaps that is the case, but what would you do with _Paige_? Your daughter currently thinks she's Paige and that her father is Owen and her mother Crystal. How do you propose keeping a little girl, who thinks you are a complete stranger, not only with you but happy?"

 

"I don't propose to! I want her to be Grace again!"

 

The table between them shivered underneath Jefferson's palm. Rumpelstiltskin looked nonplussed. "I understand, but that is not so easily achieved. The curse that Regina has placed us all under must be broken to do so. When we've all returned to the Enchanted Forest, our original selves should return. As long as we're here, I fear that she is stuck as Paige and you're stuck with two lives battling each other in your head."

 

"There's nothing I can do?" Jefferson felt those threads of his mind groaning as they fought not to snap.

 

"I didn't say that, now," Rumpelstiltskin smirked. "There's nothing you can do besides breaking the curse."

 

"And how is that done?" He asked, patience already running short. "It can't be so simple as a kiss, can it? Or we'd already be home, wouldn't we?"

 

Another smirk. "No, it surely isn't. But never you mind that. I'm taking care of that, it just needs time, and your promise. You remember."

 

Jefferson waved his hand. "Yes. Yes, I remember. So, there's nothing I can do?"

 

"For now, no. I would recommend finding a hobby or two. You have some skills, if I recall, herbalist leanings, certainly some millinery talents."

 

"You want me to gather plants and make hats while my daughter's a house away growing up in front of my eyes?!"

 

"Ah, are you sure? Have you really noticed anything change since you came here?"

 

Jefferson sat back down, thought about that. "I--I… suppose not."

 

"This world is frozen, hatter. Nothing changes, no one ages. Time is dead until that curse is broken. You literally have all the time in the world! Just don't go mad again in the meantime." He pointed around the room. "I myself have taken up crocheting. It's good for the nerves."

 

Jefferson growled and pushed away from the desk. "Do you know why we're here? Do you really think Regina will just let us be… crocheting and picking weeds in the forest?"

 

"She doesn't know that I know anything. She leaves me be. And you, I assume, she's afraid of or needs elsewise she would not have allowed you to remain free once she realized you were conscious. Just don't go stirring the pot. We're here for her revenge, let her think she has it."

 

"So, keep your secret. That's what you're saying to me?"

 

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged.

 

"And what will you do for me?"

 

He smiled at Jefferson, eased himself up onto his feet with his cane. "Why don't you come with me to my shop? I'm sure we can work out something."

 

Gold's shop was as packed full as Jefferson's head felt. It was dimly lit, dusty and absolutely brimming with things. Tons of things, pieces of people's lives littered shelves, covered walls and filled glass cases.

 

"So, this is how you bargain your way now?" Jefferson commented quietly as they strode through the storefront and into the back office.

 

"They don't know they're missing these things. I keep them in case." Rumpelstiltskin led him to a book shelf and selected a small chest from an upper shelf, then began rummaging through a nearby cabinet. "But you will know this."

 

Jefferson picked at an ominous looking candle. "Are you sure there's not magic here?"

 

"Don't touch that!"

 

Jefferson stepped away and raised an eyebrow. "Jumpy?"

 

"There's not magic, no, but some things could become magical again once… once things have changed."  
 

"Cryptic… okay. What's in those?" He pointed to the chest and box under Rumpelstiltskin's hands.

 

"Here. See for yourself."

 

Jefferson slid the box towards himself first, unlatched it and then laughed. "My millinery tools. How-- never mind. This is great, thanks."

 

"What's a hatter without a hat?"

 

"Hmm," he chuckled humorlessly and opened the smaller chest. Jefferson was not ready for what was inside it.

 

"How?" He asked, lifting back the lid.

 

"I knew the curse was coming, had time to secure certain items."

 

Jefferson opened and shut his mouth as he fought to remain stoic. He'd never thought he'd see something of Hope's again, ever.

 

"You can use that for the plants here, they're basically the same so far as I can tell. If not…" Rumpelstiltskin lifted another book from a shelf and slid it to Jefferson, "here's a comparison guide. The map… well, obviously that's just for sentimental value."

 

The small, cloth booklet felt almost alive in Jefferson's hands. He knew it well, turning its pages made it feel like he was breathing for it, like he could smell Hope beside him crouching at the roots of a tree as they studied its illustrations. The map was harder, he could see her love and excitement there, her hand in its lettering. He fought the tightening of his chest, the stinging in his eyes. This was truly the closest he'd been to Hope since before he was trapped in Wonderland. This was real. Jefferson reverently collected the herbalist guide and its companion paper book to put them back in the chest. The map was next, even more delicately handled. Jefferson folded it along the dust creases before tucking it atop the books.

 

"I hate to sound ungrateful, Mr. Gold," Jefferson pinched the bridge of his nose to hide the redness of his eyes. "Not to be ungrateful, seriously, but what is in this for you? Why are you giving me these things?"

 

Rumpelstiltskin wiggled his head, an echo of his former self. "I'm not giving them to you. I'm investing them in you. These things will keep you rooted, will help you to remain sane and stable. When you're healthy and well-adjusted, you'll carry out our deal much more effectively. I can't have a rambling lunatic as my salesman, can I? An investment, you see?"

 

Jefferson nodded cautiously. "Hats and herbs."

 

"That was what you were good at, and your wife. Thanks to your wife." Rumpelstiltskin turned away, finished his comments while stacking random knickknacks. "Sometimes they're the only ones to beguile the best out of us, aren't they? You don't know until they're gone."

 

Neither men made eye contact again, departed with brief thanks and adieus. The conversation had turned too personal, too painful for them both. Startlingly, that was the Imp's doing, not emotionally unpredictable Jefferson. The curse wasn't the worst thing to happen to either of them, that became clear. Unfortunately, they appeared to have done that to themselves each respectively. Jefferson wondered what really had happened to the Dark One that left him so vulnerable just then in the shop. He hopped through car parks and over lawns as he skittered home, considering the possibility that Rumpelstiltskin had once been just a man like him. That thought was jarring and yet perhaps more stabilizing than all the memories he'd given Jefferson that evening.

 

Jefferson was still mulling it over when he dragged himself out of bed before dawn the next morning. Could Rumpelstiltskin have been a husband once, a father, he asked the mushrooms he picked. What happened that made him resort to dark magic, he wondered above the beach plum shrubs he was rifling through for late fruits. Could something like that happen to me, he whispered to the herbalist guide as if it could answer.

 

He returned to his cavernous, echoing house in the late afternoon with samples of all the plant life he came across during the morning. The plan was to compare them to the guides under better light, but really it was because he couldn't concentrate long enough to identify any of them with any certainty. The questions surrounding Rumpelstiltskin worried him too much. Jefferson knew he had teetered on the edge of immoral and evil in his life. He didn't want to go tumbling down that slippery slope like it seemed the Dark One had. Not with his daughter here. She deserved better.

 

"I wish you were here, Hope." He sighed as Milliner settled down and left his head clear for just his own fretting. "You'd set me straight. You'd also tell me if this is…" He glanced from the leaves in his hand to one guide then the other. "If this is a baneberry, red fruit white flower, which will kill me… or a… a highbush cranberry, red fruit white flower, which is not really a cranberry but will not kill me."

 

He sighed and dropped his head on the table. "You were the one who was good at this. I just trailed along. Watched you work, occasionally tumbled in the bushes with you. I miss you." The flowers twirled in his hands as he contemplated just throwing the whole batch out. "What in the hell does 'ternate' mean?"

 

Hope's guide definitely didn't describe anything as ternate, it simply provided drawings. Squinting his eyes, Jefferson decided the flower looked more like the baneberry than the cranberry, so he bottled the berries and labeled them. The guide said they were good for poisons. Why not? He spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through his pickings. The woods around this house were not as dull as the town, they were alive and full of different active species. Those species just happened to be mostly useful, potentially dangerous plants.

 

"Well…" he announced stepping away from the forty-two freshly bottled samples, "I could certainly poison Regina if I wanted to. One, two… uh, eight plants of lethal toxicity, and only five of them you can actually taste as distinct from other fruit."

 

He snorted and shook the nearest bottle. "She wouldn't even know these were in her apple pie. Shit." Setting it back down, the rage stopped boiling and left him a little shaken. "Though, maybe not my best plan, eh, Hope? Perhaps I'll stick with these…" Another twenty or so bottles of herbs, flowers and berries fell under his gaze. "Like you, do some apothecary work… for myself because the people here won't want folk remedies. I've got willow bark to Jimson Weed, though maybe careful with that one, a touch too much and they're dead not asleep."

 

Jefferson tapped his chin thoughtfully. He could experiment with each. It wasn't as if he didn't have enough time to perfect the mixtures. And it would give him something to do.

 

"Convince by any means necessary…" He sucked on his lip, considering the bottles that were somewhere in between medicinal and poisonous, the ones that were used for sedatives or spiritual experiences. Those could come in useful and they wouldn't hurt anybody. That made his mind up for him. "Just in case, Hope. Promise."

 

The mornings then became routine. Jefferson crept out into the woods to collect what he'd used up or anything new from the day before. He also made notes for each new sample, preparing to add them to the map he'd started at the house. He'd return, sort things out, fill in his map draft, and then start breaking down the plants into whatever form they were most useful, as teas, or concentrations or just the raw plant. As he found just how to handle each, testing them a little cruelly on the rats that were plaguing his cellar, he'd write a note to himself in the paper book -- unable to sully Hope's copy -- and then stow the solution, powder, or whole sample away.

 

The afternoons went in other directions, he'd watch the town, wait for Grace to come out for recess and then read until school let out, watching her until she went to sleep. The nights were the hardest, they were when he'd talk to Hope the most. Some days he'd take walks just to get out of that house and settle his mind, some he'd paint the basic map of the woods, others he would work on a hat. After Rumpelstiltskin's suggestion, Jefferson allowed himself to make exactly one hat a week. It was how he kept time. Still embarrassed at the pitch of obsession he'd arrived at in Wonderland, Jefferson tended to disperse the finished hats throughout his house, hiding them in boxes or cabinet or closets, on the top shelves of the cellar. A few though, the ones that turned out the best he kept in his studio. Just one he left in his room, the exact replica of Hope's hat, perched beside his original blue and silver one.

 

And that was his exact, careful daily routine for precisely 1407 hats. He never wavered, never took a day off, for fear that he would spiral out of control again. With time and practice Jefferson avoided the wild fervor of Wonderland, developed instead a cold precision. Unfortunately, that focused, intense exterior was incredibly fragile. He had to keep it from cracking on a day to day basis. Little things could almost set him off, Grace falling on the playground, Jefferson accidently over-steeping his tea, anything. He only reeled it back in by working with his hands. The good news was, by the twentieth year, Milliner had become sedate, only set off on occasion, and the Hatter was nearly non-existent. Jefferson was more or less in control of his own head. He just had the conflicting memories to deal with. Conflicting memories and the suffocating solitude of twenty-seven plus years with nothing changing.

 

He felt stale. He ached for something different. He prayed every night to have his dear Grace back and every morning he awoke to the same, frozen little town, oblivious to its own droning monotony. Each evening brought a new wash of loathing, of heartbreak. Seeing Grace with that other mother and father, eating together and smiling, laughing, talking was torturous, but Jefferson made himself watch. Ignoring it would only help feed his urge to fall back into denial and the derangement of repressed grief. In exchange, he became a little more bitter, a little less sure of his ability to actually ever deserve to have her back. That just made him more ardent the next day, fueled by aggrieved obsession again and again until that one-thousand four-hundred and seventh hat.

 

That's when things changed.


	4. Tick Tock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger arrives and things finally change. Later, Jefferson makes a friend.

"You'd think they'd get tired of having meatloaf every damn night, but that man is just ecstatic each time she opens that open and that hunk of mutilated cow carcass comes out steaming. Grace doesn't like loaves, at least not of meat. She needs some vegetables or something…"

 

Jefferson paused, holding his pins in his mouth as he stretched the fabric taut over the edge of the brim in his hand.

 

"At home, she at least had variety in the scant vegetables and stews I threw together. Not that those were ever very good, but they had nutritional value. This… this is just salt and flesh. Not that she ever changes, so it doesn't matter in the long run, but you'd think they'd grow tired of the taste, at least subconsciously."

 

He placed the final pin and then reached for his needles.

 

"I would make her a new meal every night, every day. Different lunch, even if she didn't notice. Not peanut butter and jelly every single day, that's for sure. I could… I could make tarts. I made tarts yesterday and then fed them to the rats and only one died."

 

The thread fed through the eye of his needle effortlessly. The knot took just a few flicks of his finger.

 

"I think I'm getting better at the hemlock, Hope. It think I've gotten it to just a paralytic. And it's only a little bitter with the rhubarb. God, I sound like a demented baker. 'Hi, I'm Jefferson, I bake tarts to torture and then kill the queen, but I can also offer you a lovely, locally-sourced berry scone that is very unlikely to cause serious liver damage. Just don't eat it with alcohol.' Ugh."

 

He set down his needle to massage his temples.

 

"And, on top of that, anyone with a brain would assume I'm certifiable because I talk to myself almost non-stop. Except, it's only part of the time that I'm actually talking to _myself._ Shit, I need you here, Hope. You'd find the perfect balance of rhubarb and hemlock on the first go. Oh, and then I wouldn't be maddeningly alone!"

 

He stuck his thumb and hissed.

 

"And sticking myself. Where's my thimble?"

 

The search commenced, thumb in his mouth, sucking it clean so he wouldn't stain his clothing or hat with the blood. He was impeccably dressed everyday now for at least one-thousand hats. It helped maintain his tenuous self-respect.

 

"There you are, you little bastard. I always leave you in the strangest places."

 

Jefferson collected the thimble from the tea tray in the corner and then sat down again, pulling his lights back into place. The stitch was going to be a tight one here.

 

"What I really want to know is what in the name of Merlin Rumpel is actually doing with this long-game plan of his. Is it or isn't it a little absurd that I've had to wait twenty-seven years, not including the period of Milliner's reign, to find out how I'm going to help to break this curse? It's ridiculous. I should be doing something, instead of watching Grace eat her fiftieth hunk of meatloaf."

 

He held his breath, tongue between his teeth as he pulled the loop stitch through.

 

"Not to mention the fact that Regina's been allowed to go on living this fantasy of hers, raising an outside child. He keeps growing every day, eventually he's going to notice that no one else does." He scoffed, "she thinks I'm delusional, what was she imagining would happen with him? That he just wouldn't see that his home is frozen? _That's_ deluded."

 

He sat back, clicked his tongue and then swung around to his east facing telescope.

 

"You know, I haven't seen him recently. Maybe she killed him and ate him."

 

Jefferson crouched and gently nudged the telescope, searching down the lane until he landed on the Mayor's mansion. The lights were on downstairs but he couldn't see anything in the upper story.

 

"Hmm. Maybe he ran away. I would have."

 

Abandoning the telescope, he returned to the nearly completed hat, flipped it over in his hands.

 

"In other news, I'm pretty sure there are only seven dwarves here. I was counting today and there were definitely only seven that I could find. It's depressing that they still haven't found the princess. I think that she's the school teacher, but I can't be sure. She certainly doesn't act like the Snow White I heard about, so meek. You'd be happy there, in the school, Hope. A whole building for others like you. You'd probably have your own classroom. Though, there's plenty you could find to occupy yourself with in this world, or you could spend every second of your life in the woods. It was really nice today. The birds were going crazy over the last of the berries. I think it's about to be winter."

 

The hat felt right on his fingertips, had an even weight to it. He set it on a stand and considered what to adorn it with.

 

"What should use this time? Last week was orange and it was nice. Maybe a yellow? Like your hair?"

 

Jefferson pushed through the now familiar pang that shot through his chest to his stomach. Aching for Hope was entirely regular.

 

"Yes, I think yellow, before the sun goes away."

 

He gathered a bunch of fabric that he'd used to actually cover the hat and began weaving yellow contrast fabric into its folds.

 

"Anyway, I still haven't found Geraldine yet. I'm beginning to think that maybe she didn't come over with the rest of us. Which, bless her and keep her, if that's the case. She's lucky. I dare say that she's still alive. I wasn't in Wonderland _that_ long. I don't think… So, that leaves with only three missing from home. They're all here, Hope. It's incredible. Whatever Regina had in mind for her revenge, it's sweeping. I'm beginning to think she wants everyone except herself to be miserable, that's it. That's her revenge. If we stay like this for the remainder of time, she'd be happy."

 

He stitched a quick seam and then arranged the band around the base of the newest hat.

 

"By the way, that book I found a few years ago, I got another copy today in the mail and read it. It's not flattering, ever. And you're not in it. The whole thing focuses around that poor girl I traumatized. And I must have really done a number on her, because there is some slipping in the details. Alright… there."

 

Jefferson stepped back from his work area, ducked his head around the lights, and admired the hat. It was perfect.

 

"One-thousand four-hundred and seven. Complete. Okay, Hope, I'm finished for the night. I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon."

 

He bowed his head briefly, drawing an image of Hope into his mind to make sure he still could, and then collected the hat. It was going to live in the coat closet downstairs. He was just setting the hat down on the shelf, so he could clean up his tools and flip off the lights, when he felt his whole body thrum. The hat dropped onto the counter and whirled on its end weakly as Jefferson stared at it. It only completed two full spins before settling down on its top again, but Jefferson was absolutely positive they had been magic-shocked spins.

 

"What in the hell was that?" He asked, swiveling on the spot and looking around the room. Nothing looked different, but he could feel something had changed. The air was crisp. Crisp beyond being fresh air, which was itself impossible since all his windows were sealed. He bounded to the windows and peered out of them. The wind had changed, leaves were rustling and branches swaying.

 

He had the chills. Something was happening. He couldn't pinpoint what, but it felt as if a storm were brewing. The air was alive, almost electric, waiting to spark.

 

The search continued, he swept over the whole of his vista with one telescope and noticed a flurry of activity. His neighbors were watching television instead of a movie, Grace was having ice cream, Dr. Hopper was walking his dog down a different street. Things were changing. Very subtly, but things were different. Jefferson felt a tingle of excitement shoot up his spine. It was time. His waiting period was coming to its close.

 

"There," he whispered, his sight settling on the beaten up, yellow Volkswagen puttering down Main Street. "And just _who are you_? Someone new… someone clearly very… important."

 

Jefferson felt as if the car had a gravity of its own, the whole of the town seemed to sway ever so slightly towards it. When it stopped, he held his breath. Whatever, whoever climbed out of it might be his key. They'd made his hat rumble just by coming to town. Something magical came with them.

 

"Hope?"

 

His breath caught as the driver stepped out, long, curling blonde hair behind her. He knew it wasn't Hope, but the image was startling.

 

"Hope, who is that?"

 

The boy hopped out and into Jefferson's scope.

 

"Regina's boy? So, that's where he got off to… what is he doing with her? Who is she? If only you could answer and tell me…" He watched them together, talk to the therapist and his dog, one of the few Jefferson hadn't identified yet. They seemed on unsteady terms, the woman uncertain about the child. He followed them to the Mayor's house as well, then again as the bug started on its way out of town. His heart sunk as it headed towards the town line.

 

"Just a brief respite, I suppose," he sighed, about to give up his watch when the wolf emerged from the woods. He'd seen that wolf only once before, it made him anxious.

 

"What are you… shit!" Jefferson leapt away from the telescope as the car careened into the town sign, as he heard the crack all the way inside his house. "Shit!"

 

"Hope, I think I have to make my very first phone call to the Huntsman."

 

* * *

 

Whoever she was, this new woman had certainly changed things. She, for one, gave Jefferson his first surprise in two decades. Her arrival also upended his routine. There was no trip to the forest that next morning. Instead, he sat in his studio and stared at the sheriff's station. He almost felt bad about the fact that his call-in had landed her in a holding cell, but then again, he didn't want her influence to end.

 

Things kept changing. They were the most minute differences but he appreciated each and every one. Grace was late to the bus, he watched her run down the block and skitter on board. The radio station played a different song when his alarm went off, he watched Regina fume about her son having run off again. It was beautiful. Not this much excitement had happened since Jefferson could remember. He checked in on the kid at the playground by the bay and then moved back to the sheriff's.

 

"Oh, you're going to get yours, Regina. I can feel it," he chuckled and sat back. "And the look on your face is going to be…" the door swung shut, it was only a second before Regina's shocked face appeared in the window, "oh, _so_ rewarding. Yes, she's still here. She's still here upsetting your horrible, mundane little town."

 

The two of them leaving together was a bit of a shock for Jefferson but he watched with the same interest as they hopped about town, presumably searching for the boy.

 

"Why _are_ you with him? What would incite this stranger to come to this shithole of a town with a child and then stay around looking for said child? Nothing… unless… huh. Do you think, Hope, that that woman could be the boy's real mother?"

 

He sat forward as Regina stormed out of the school alone.

 

"Uh-oh. Something's up. Are you going to go rip someone's heart out?"

 

Uninterested in the mayor's temper tantrum, Jefferson turned back to the school and waited for the other woman to come out. She did in short order and drove off to the east.

 

"Ah, you're finally heading to the right place. Yes, he's in that castle. That's it, you must be his biological mother. Then, what were you doing leaving town last night? You shouldn't leave him. Trust me."

 

_You don't abandon family._

 

"Yes, Hatter, thank you," Jefferson grumbled and retreated from the telescope for a short break. The poignancy of that comment hit too deep and too close. He had to go make some tea.

 

Returning to the window, a flurry of panic hit him when he couldn't find the little yellow bug. He calmed down significantly when his eye settled on it at the mayor's house.

 

"You brought him back to her. Tut, tut. Just don't leave. Don't leave. Please, don't leave."

 

The car rolled away and Jefferson felt his chest tightening. He couldn't go back to the monotony. This woman had to stay, her effect had to stay. The breath he'd been holding escaped in a loud sigh as it stopped in front of the diner.

 

"Go inside. Rent a room. Go inside. Rent a room."

 

Jefferson didn't care that his tea was going cold. It was imperative that he watched until their visitor stepped inside those doors.

 

"Go inside. Rent a room. Go inside--ah…"

 

Her hair caught the sunlight like Hope's had, bounced in the same way. She was heading inside.

 

"Hope, Hope, Hope, help us. She has to stay. She has to."

 

Rumpelstiltskin was inside, Jefferson had been wondering what he was up to that day. Now, if only he would move so Jefferson could see.

 

"She's taking a key!"  
 

He leapt up with his face still attached to the eyepiece.

 

"She's taking a key, Hope--whoa…"

 

If the little shiver the night before had stirred him into a tizzy, the collective sigh from the town that washed over him knocked Jefferson to the ground.

 

"Did you feel that? That--that was a breath, Hope. The town's alive finally!"

 

He skipped to the telescope and gleefully assessed the damage. There it was. The big one, the one it astounded Jefferson that no one had ever noticed. The clock tower had changed, the second hand that was permanently pointing to the three had moved.

 

"Tick, tock…" Jefferson muttered and then stopped. The clocks in his house were ticking like they always had been but now they felt more present. "Tick. Tock. _She_ started the clock."

 

* * *

 

There was exactly one thing on Jefferson's mind after the clock tower started moving again. He had to meet this woman. He'd stuck around in his studio for a few more minutes to see if it would continue ticking, but after that it was a mad dash to shower and get dressed so he could find her before she left Granny's. He was pulling on his boots when the door rang, then rang again, then kept ringing in one continuous tone.

 

"I suppose, Hope, that ends my period of amnesty from the Queen." He straightened out his pant leg and then sauntered down the stairs.

 

Regina was glaring through his window when he arrived at the bottom. Jefferson offered her his most winning grin and then threw open the door.

 

"Good morning, Mada--"

 

"Shove it, Jefferson." Regina shouldered past him and stormed inside.

 

"Yes, please, come in."

 

She turned back immediately, stomped right up to him, tips of her heels pinching on his toes, her finger jabbed into his scarf. "Don't. Start. Being. Cute. I don't have the patience this morning. What did I do to you, Jefferson? Hmm? Why?"  
 

"Well, for starters," he snorted and waved around him, then pointed down at her finger, nail digging into his scar. "I think I have my fair share of grievances, but that being said, I frankly don't know what you're talking about. What did _I_ do to _you?"_

 

Regina laughed humorlessly, sucked on her teeth for a second. "Very well, Jefferson, we'll play nice." Her heels clicked as she strutted away. When she turned back around the snarl was more her bewitching smile. "You look well, the past few years have done you wonders. Were you on your way into town?"

 

"As a matter of fact, I was," Jefferson replied in a much more relaxed tone than Regina.

 

"Hmm. Lovely. No wood trek today? I'm guessing your silks are not for the great outdoors as well." She ran a finger lightly over his waistcoat, batted her eyes up at him as she continued dangerously quietly, "going to see someone in particular?"

 

"No, just thought I'd go look at the ticking clock."

 

The Mayor's smile melted away. "I knew--I knew you did this with malicious intent. Why, Jefferson, why did you call the sheriff's station last night? Are you _trying_ to undermine me?"

 

Jefferson just started giggling. Seeing the queen so frazzled tickled him. When she glared hard enough to have set him afire at home, he bit his lip. " _I'm sorry_ , Regina. Is this a life or death matter or do you have your feathers all ruffled because your boy's biological mother is suddenly in town?"

 

"Just answer the question, Jefferson."

 

"Me? I was doing my civic duty. I witnessed an accident. I reported it to the authorities. Is that not what people do here? Was I supposed to let the vandalizer of our town sign escape?"

 

"Oh, so you didn't cause the accident and then call it in to keep her here?"

 

"Goodness, no. I'm simply an innocent onlooker. Engineering misery is your M.O. not mine. Me, I actively avoid it if I can."

 

Regina sneered, "no, you wouldn't go to extreme lengths to get _what you wanted_."

 

"What I wanted? Why would I want you, my prison warden, to be foul-tempered? Why would I want your adopted child's mother here?"

 

"Why indeed. And yet, you know that Ms. Swan is Henry's biological mother."

 

"I've been watching you," Jefferson shrugged. "I enjoy seeing you turn green, and I figured that was the only reason why. She's no threat otherwise."

 

"Mm-hmm. You stay away from her, Jefferson. Do you hear me? She is no concern of yours, no matter how much she may remind your addled brain of sweet _Paige's_ mother."

 

"Hope? You think she-- well… I suppose she does have pretty hair, doesn't she? _Yes. That's_ what I want. She can be Grace's new Mama!"

 

Regina's eyes widened. She didn't catch his sardonic tone. "Do not, Jefferson. I don't need any other reason for her to be sticking around, for curiosity or lawsuit."

 

"I'm not going to sexually harass her, Regina. Though, if she comes to me, I won't say no." He grinned down at her, enjoying seeing her squirm.

 

"Stay out of it, Jefferson, or I'll make you wish you were in Wonderland again."  
 

"Ooh," Jefferson shivered, had the courtesy to look frightened. "Yes, _Your Majesty!_ "

 

She stomped out while he was still in his deep bow. She didn't respond well to his sarcasm, but he didn't frankly care. She was all bluster here, bark without the bite. What could she honestly have left to do to him? Without magic, the answer was not much. Within this town slowly wakening from its delirious slumber and without magic, nothing. She could get away with nothing that would leave Jefferson in a worse place than he already was. That thought was strangely comforting.

 

That thought gave him license to, explicitly against Regina's mandate, go a-wandering about the town, observing this Ms. Swan from a shorter distance away, waiting for his opportunity to approach her. Because, if Jefferson did nothing else for the next twenty-seven years again, he would undeniably lose his head. Talking to her was a good way to start that domino trail, get things rolling, even if it was just to find out who she was, beyond being the boy's birth-mother. Maybe he could convince her to stay, to keep changing things. Or even better, maybe he could ask for her help. She made a hat flutter with life. There was a chance she could get one to do a little something more.

 

Problem was, in a preemptive effort of Regina's, word had spread the past few decades about the eccentric millionaire up the way being less eccentric and more stark-raving mad with his plants and his hats and his voices in his head he talked to. None of it was explicitly _untrue_ but it didn't really accurately portray the situation. Regina sure had a way of twisting words the wrong way. In any case, people, when they noticed him skulking around outside buildings and loitering by trees, they tended to call it in to the sheriff's office.

 

Needless to say, his first venture into town was a bust. Maybe he should have known better than to just kind of lurk around the city center.

 

"Uh, Mr. Milliner?" The Sheriff leaned out the front door of his office, an uncomfortable look on his face. "You're not… you're not stalking anyone, are you?"

 

Jefferson stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned away from the break in the bushes through which he'd been watching Ms. Swan. "Uh… no?"

 

"No? So, that's not Emma Swan over there you've been following rather indiscreetly for the last two hours?"

 

"Oh, her? Her name's Emma Swan? No… I just… well, you see… um… have you noticed the clock tower's working again?"

 

The Sheriff grimaced, shook his head slowly. "Mr. Milliner," he sighed, "Mayor Mills warned me to look out for you doing this. Don't tell me her rumors about you are true. I really wanted to believe that you were just the misunderstood shut-in."

 

"Well, I am. I'm solitary. I'm rather misunderstood. I just… I just… she's new and… interesting. Don't you find her interesting?"

 

"Indeed. And soon to be a very expensive lawsuit, if you don't stop. She's a bail bondsperson she knows the business. Come on. I'll drive you home."

 

Jefferson hopped away from the Sheriff's hand. "Please. I'm not being creepy. I just… I just was waiting for the right opportunity to talk to her. I need to talk to her."

 

"Talk to her? About what?"

 

"Well…" Jefferson pulled on his ear. This wasn't going to go well unless the Huntsman was sort of awake in there. "About… magic?"

 

No. The Huntsman was not at all awake in there. Instead, the Sheriff just looked very disappointed and full of pity. "Oh, Mr. Milliner. Come now, let's go."

 

"No, no, no. Okay. I know. That sounded bad. I hear that now. But, listen. I'm not crazy. Something is new in this town since she's come here, Emma Swan brought something to Storybrooke. Don't tell me you can't feel it."

 

"Mr. Milliner…" he took him by the arm and led him to the sheriff's cruiser.

 

"My name is Jefferson. Please, just think about it. The clock tower's ticking again, people are changing their routine, the air feels fresher. Doesn't it?"

 

"Okay, Jefferson, I can see that you're not purposefully trying to hurt anyone with this, so I'm just going to take you home, but you can't come into town talking about magic, okay? It…it sounds crazy."

 

"I'm not crazy!" Jefferson wilted as the Sheriff's face grew sterner. "Okay, maybe a little, but I'm not going to hurt anybody. I just want to be in town for once. Please…"

 

The Sheriff shook his head. "I'm sorry. Mayor's orders. You must have done something to really tick her off. Besides, the people find you unsettling. One lady said you didn't blink enough."

 

"Blink enough? That's a reason to have a police escort back to my house?"

 

He shrugged. "In you go."

 

"Sheriff, seriously, I'm not crazy."

 

The two of them stood, Jefferson refusing to sit inside the cruiser, the Sheriff waiting by the door. Finally, the latter caved.

 

"Call me Graham. And, I'm sorry, but we have documents from the hospital saying the exact opposite. Paranoid schizophrenia."

 

"Do I seem schizophrenic to you?"

 

"No. A little manic… but it doesn't matter. I have my orders. Come on." He shut the door behind Jefferson and climbed in the other side. "Maybe next time you take a shine to a person, you just walk up and introduce yourself?"

 

"A shine? No. I just want to talk to her."

 

Graham chuckled. "Yeah, that's usually how it starts."

 

Jefferson could see he was getting nowhere with the honesty, decided to start playing on his character around town. "Well, whatever it was, I just wanted to talk. I thought it might be nice to have a conversation with someone who didn't already stigmatize everything that came out of my mouth."

 

The cab of the cruiser fell silent.

 

"That's hard," Graham offered, "having a reputation you can't shake. I gotta say, man. You seem okay. You should try acting like it in front of more people. That way you might outlive the madman millionaire label."

 

"Maybe…" Jefferson sucked on his lip. The Sheriff would be useful if he could win him over, but he was also clearly oblivious. "You know, full disclosure here, I'm not going to stop coming into town until I talk to her."

 

"Oh, I figured. You've got that look."

 

"Mm-hmm. Just wanted to be open with you beforehand."

 

"Hey, if you manage to talk to her before five reports roll in, I just might let you. Oh, and first four drives home are free, fifth's a night in holding."

 

"Thanks."

 

"Full disclosure."

 

"Full disclosure."

 

"Maybe next time have a good reason for coming into town. That seems less sketchy."

 

Jefferson nodded. "Point taken." He ducked his head as he stepped from the car. "I'll be less psycho-stalker, more… engaged citizen next time."

 

"Good. Less paperwork for me."

 

Graham wasn't any less even-tempered when he sat down next to Jefferson the following morning outside Marco's repair shop. He handed Jefferson a paper cup of something steaming and took a sip from his own.

 

"Coffee. For me, that is. I brought you chamomile. Mum gave it to me for nerves. Figured you could use it."

 

"I actually prefer tea." Jefferson bobbed his head in thanks. "And, I'm just sitting, you know."

 

"Oh, I know. This bench is one of my personal favorites." He clicked his tongue and then jerked he head back to the door behind them. "Marco's bound to be ecstatic. Eight thousand dollars' worth of hand-carved oaken banisters. Quite the alibi."

 

"My house was about due for a renovation anyway." Jefferson grinned as he shrugged.

 

"Mmm. Well… unless you're sticking around for an estimate, it'd be best if you moved along. Along home."

 

"Is it my unblinking eyes again?"

 

"No, they've switched from eerily staring to shifty eyes. Sorry, man."

 

"Shifty," Jefferson scoffed and then took a sip from his tea. "I am literally just sitting here, enjoying the day."

 

"Yes. It is a lovely day. D'you see her walk Henry to school then?"

 

Jefferson clicked his tongue. "I surely did."

 

"Didn't think that was your chance?"

 

"No…" He had seen Ms. Swan walking with the boy. He'd also seen her face when the boy mentioned the curse on their town. It wasn't a good moment. "I didn't want to interrupt their time… together."

 

"Oh, that was thoughtful, and cowardly. I should warn you, though, she's a tough nut to crack. Rejected me without my even suggesting anything. It was a preemptive rejection, and it stung."

 

Jefferson smiled at a group of people gawking at him as they passed. "I'd bet. She seems pretty… strong-spirited. Are you going to make me leave now?"

 

"Hmm?" Graham glanced over at him from waving at the same staring pedestrians. "Oh, I probably should, but it really is such a nice day, and Mr. and Mrs. Fowler are such uppity old farts, aren't they?"

 

"Mrs. Fowler…" she was one of the ones Jefferson didn't know from home.

 

"Yeah… well," Graham stood from the bench and clapped Jefferson on the shoulder, "you soak in the last autumn day and try to improve that reputation of yours. Try to make your eyes as small and still as possible. I'll be back to sweep this bench in… oh, two hours." He strode over to their audience, listening to his radio chattering. "Sisters! How are you?..."

 

The nuns scattered as the Sheriff headed straight through them and across the street. Jefferson did as directed, watching the street in as unthreatening a manner as possible and waiting for Ms. Swan to come back by. If she did, he missed her. Graham was back first and sooner than he'd promised, a weary expression on his face.

 

"Sorry, Jefferson. Time to go."

 

"What did I do? If it was Mrs. Polly, I only said that I was shy and I couldn't help the size of my eyes."

 

Graham snorted in spite of his mood. "No, it was nothing you did. Madame Mayor is insisting I perform the most unpleasant duties of my job. Sadly, escorting you home is the least unpleasant thing, so I'm doing that to put off the other, which is much, much worse. Come on."

 

Jefferson let himself be dragged to the car and sat inside cooperatively. "It's nice to know that I'm only slightly unpleasant. What's the other thing?"

 

"I shouldn't talk about it. Suffice it to say it's not precisely going to reflect well on my position in town."

 

"Regina strong-arming you?"

 

The Sheriff cut his eyes over but didn't answer.

 

"Denial… yeah, I know how that goes. Is it something you don't want to do or is it something you know you shouldn't do?"

 

"Both."

 

Jefferson grew cautious at the tone to the Sheriff's response. "Is it to do with Ms. Swan?"

 

"You know, we need to stop discussing this. It's unprofessional on my part. Uh… okay, Mr. Milliner, this is your second warning. You only have two more free trips," Graham recited the professional drudgery with little interest and then unlocked the car door.

 

"I hope you're doing the right thing, Sheriff," Jefferson commented quietly as he climbed out of the car.

 

"I know I'm not, but I don't have much choice. Oh, and… you might not want to bother wasting your third ride on tomorrow. Ms. Swan might not be out and about." He rolled up his window and pulled slowly through the drive with Jefferson watching anxiously.

 

Why wouldn't Ms. Swan be out and about? He raced up to his studio to watch from the telescope. His concern was well founded but unnecessary though, as he watched the Sheriff, admittedly regretfully, escort a handcuffed Ms. Swan out from Granny's B&B and take her to the Sheriff's office but then release her not twenty minutes later. Whatever had happened, it was not so serious that Graham was forced to do something regrettable.

 

Jefferson was right back out waiting for her the next day. This time he brought a book.

 

"Oh, come on, Jefferson. A book? Did you bring binoculars, too? Why don't you go shopping, actually do business around town?" Graham sat down opposite him in the booth at Granny's.

 

Jefferson frowned at the novel in his hand. "What's wrong with a book?"

 

"Nothing, it's just the stalker's best friend. Do you have little eye holes cut out of it?"

 

"No. I wouldn't mind it though. I hate it."

 

"What's wrong with _Alice in Wonderland_? A coffee, please."

 

"Thank you," Jefferson smiled back at the waitress's wink. " _She_ doesn’t think I'm a stalker."

 

"No? That's one, though, to be perfectly honest, Ruby isn't the toughest judge around." He waved and received a flirty grin from the waitress before nodding to a glowering Granny. "She is, and she doesn't like you. Now, if you're waiting for our mutual friend to come down, you're going to be disappointed. She was kicked out yesterday."

 

"Oh? And what was all that about?"

 

"An abuse of technicalities. Anyway, when you're finished with your pancakes, I'll take you for ride three, you stubborn bastard." He tapped the table and waved for a refill of his coffee, only to pause when a bit of chatter floated up from his radio. "On second thought, no more for me. My friend here can pay the bill. I have to go, you'd do better not to be here when I get back."

 

Jefferson enjoyed his breakfast, ignoring the wary glares from Granny and some of the other patrons, but then headed back up to his house. Ms. Swan was nowhere to be found that day and her car was parked outside the hospital, not a place he wanted to explore again. Unsure where to start the next morning, Jefferson instead spent some time in the woods and headed into town around lunchtime, watching Grace play outside from the park across the street. That was a poorly thought out alternative.

 

The Sheriff arrived not four minutes after Jefferson sat down.

 

"Oh? What did I do now? I'm not bothering anybody."

 

Graham marched over, rolling his eyes. "You've got to know that sitting across the street from a school is an immediate red flag for a single adult male. You're not here because of… of your daughter are you?"

 

The caution in the Sheriff's voice made Jefferson play it safe. "My biological daughter? Paige?"

 

"Ah, so you're not calling her Grace today. That's good." He crossed then uncrossed his arms, shifted his weight to his other foot. "Jefferson, is that the real reason you want to speak with Ms. Swan? Because she understands giving up a child?"

 

Jefferson looked at his feet. He hadn't thought about that but it was a perfect excuse. "Um… yes. You caught me, Sheriff. Well? Is it still three or have I lost one without actually taking the ride?"

 

"Eh… it's still three. Come on."

 

Inside the cab of the car Graham changed the subject. "I offered her a job. Swan. The deputy job this morning. She's thinking it over."

 

"And what is she doing until then?"

 

Graham shook his head.

 

"Oh, come on. Help me out, I need to talk to her. Have a heart, Sheriff! You do have a heart, don't you?" He didn't, but Jefferson still wasn't convinced that a little part of the Huntsman wasn't alive and conscious in there. It was worth a test.

 

"Yes. I have a heart. Of course, but I'm not going to sic you on her. I want her to take the job, then you can chat with her in our office, under controlled conditions."

 

Jefferson sighed. "Fine. Say, different topic, but when are you going to get around to hunting down that enormous timber wolf out in the woods. The thing scared the life out of me this morning, for about the twentieth time."

 

It was only a little lie. He had seen the wolf, but for the third time. It seemed a good topic to push the Huntsman on.

 

"A timber wolf? You're kidding me, Jefferson. Those things aren't even indigenous to this area, I don't think. Are you sure you haven't already spoken to Ms. Swan? That was her excuse for crashing her car." He shook his head and then scoffed again, "besides, what would you have me do about it? I'm the Sheriff, I don't hunt."

 

"You hunt me down every day."

 

Graham only rolled his eyes.

 

"Fine. Then I hope Ms. Swan takes the job, she'll believe me and come chase the thing away. A bail bondsperson is used to tracking, I assume."

 

"People, but yes, it's the same general idea. I'm sure hunting down a possibly imaginary wolf will be a great first assignment for her, conveniently it also gives you a chance to talk to her, on your own."

 

"Honestly, yes, that would be opportune, but I'm serious about it and so was Ms. Swan. I saw him, standing bold as brass in the road, when she met the thing that night. I assumed it was why she swerved."

 

The Sheriff took a long, deep breath before responding. "And you know that how?"

 

"I was the witness who called it in, the accident."

 

"You saw it."

 

"I did."

 

"You must be extremely bored up in that house to have resorted to watching the road at that time of night."

 

"You have no idea, hence all the treks. Woods, town, anything is better than being in there day in and day out, even with wolves. That way I'm not completely alone." Jefferson chuckled as the car pulled to a stop. The wolf didn't actually bother him, it seemed like something from home. He only mentioned it to test. The results were discouraging.

 

"Mmm, you enjoy the toothy menace, then. And, remember: you only have one more ride home that doesn't include a stopover in a holding cell. Use it wisely."

 

"Thanks, Sheriff. You're a peach."

 

The Sheriff sighed loudly as Jefferson stepped from the car. He was leaning to look out of the side window when Jefferson turned around.

 

"Something wrong? Don't like being called 'peach?' I figured men wouldn't--"

 

"Regina's going to kill me, but screw it. You can't live your whole life walled up in a house, even one as big and as nice as yours is. There's a game on tonight, the Rabbit Hole's got draft specials and exactly one television that shows sporting events. You could come with. Get you away from the big, bad wolf."

 

Jefferson snorted. "I thought you were supposed to keep the madman locked up in his house."

 

"Eh. Madame Mayor doesn't frequent bars of… well, of any character. She'll never know. Ah. And I might be able to introduce you to someone to… to keep you company."

 

He couldn't help from laughing. Him in a dive bar? Watching televised sports? Talking to the sedated people of this town? What a joke.

 

Graham shrugged. "Game starts at five-thirty. You can pay me back for all these free rides. And your friend Ruby frequents the place. Think about it."

 

Jefferson stopped laughing as the Sheriff drove away without another word. He was serious. The Sheriff had actually just invited Jefferson out, like a friend. It had been many decades since Jefferson had had a friend and been sane. Before Hope he'd really just been by himself, occasionally drinking with other random patrons at which ever hole he was drowning his unhappiness away at. He legitimately didn't know how to respond to that. Should he go? Or was the Sheriff just feeling guilty and assuaging his conscience with a lukewarm offer? It was impossible to tell. Jefferson had zero people skills anymore. Could he have made a friend without the social lubricant of being bat-shit crazy? Even a friend out of pity would be an improvement.

 

After four hours of fretting over the sincerity of Graham's offer, Jefferson finally decided to go. What was the worst that could happen? He be arrested? And he needed the practice with social skills if he was ever going to function when Grace came back to him. He couldn't be hermit with a young daughter, she would need socializing.

 

The Rabbit Hole was dark and loud and a little dingy, like the inside of Jefferson's head. It made him a little uncomfortable, but he pushed through it as he edged towards the bar. The other patrons didn't really pay any attention to him. He was just another shadow moving through the cluster. At least he couldn't feel their eyes as they stared.

 

He began to feel a little sick as he approached the single television flashing the mentioned game. It was after five-thirty, almost six actually. He didn't see the Sheriff. Jefferson had been wrong, it was an empty offer. His head started swimming, filling with the insecure chattering of three separate personalities. He wanted to run, there just wasn't enough space. He'd have to shove through all these bodies.

 

"Jefferson."

 

He turned to the sound of his name. In the corner across from the screen sat the Sheriff in a booth with two other men. Jefferson recognized one as a dwarf, Doc maybe, and the other was one of the townspeople he'd never identified.

 

"You made it." Graham waved him over and nudged the dwarf to make room.

 

Jefferson sat cautiously at the booth, nodding but not making eye contact with the others.

 

"Great. Everyone, Jefferson. Jefferson, Greg Ross, he works at the elementary school, and Billy Boy, mechanic."

 

"Nice to meet you." Jefferson shook hands with a nod.

 

"He lives in the big house up the hill. You know the one. Must have inherited a load of money because as far as I know, he doesn't work in town."

 

"I make specialty hats. Ship them out."

 

"There you have it, hat-maker millionaire. Anyway, he doesn't get out much, which explain his clothing. You don't have casual… things?"

 

Jefferson looked down and shrugged. "I like these."

 

"I don't blame you," Bobby chimed in, "if I had a reason to dress nice… or the money, I would. Women like it. I think."

 

Graham snorted. "There you go. Okay, I'm getting the next round. What'll everyone have?"

 

"The same."

 

"Same."

 

He looked to Jefferson. "Preference?"

 

Jefferson looked around the table. They had pitchers and empty glasses. Beer. He didn't care for it. "Uh… I'll get my own. Beer's not my…"

 

"Cup of tea?"

 

He laughed, "yeah."

 

"That's fine. You can pay. Come on."

 

The bartender looked skeptically at Jefferson as they approached. Graham didn't seem to notice.

 

"Another pitcher, and whatever he's having. He's paying."

 

"Do you carry Connemara?"

 

"What?" The bartender frowned.

 

"Whiskey. Connemara whiskey."

 

"We have Wild Turkey and Jameson."

 

Graham covered a laugh with a cough. Jefferson just sighed.

 

"Whatever you prefer. Neat."

 

The bartender gave him a glare and then poured a tumbler. "Twenty-five."

 

Jefferson pulled out the credit card he used for everything and handed it over. "Open a tab."

 

"Hey, there you go." Graham clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be making friends in no time."

 

"Mmm. So, who's playing?" He nodded to the screen behind the Sheriff.

 

"Oh, that? I don't really know. I don't like football much. It's just an excuse for cheap drinks and to get out of house. Do you follow?"

 

"No," Jefferson snorted. "Not at all. Are you saying you're a kept man?"

 

The Sheriff shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."

 

"Odd."

 

"Odd?" Graham echoed as they walked back to the booth with the drinks. "How so?"

 

"You don't seem the type."

 

"You know the type?" He sounded disbelieving.

 

"I do. I was married, but people here surprise me with their habits." Jefferson was surprised. He couldn't imagine the Huntsman with someone, not with his heart torn out. "You happy?"

 

"Uh… yeah."

 

"What's this? Are we talking about the Sheriff's mystery woman?"

 

"Oh, don't ask him. He'll never tell us."

 

Graham nodded as the two of them sat back down. "It's true. It's a secret."

 

"What about you, Jefferson?" Billy asked. "Escaping someone tonight? Or out looking?"

 

Jefferson hid behind his whiskey and then promptly choked on it. It tasted like lighter fluid. This was why he didn't have friends. "No. No one."

 

"You said you were married. What happened?"

 

"She… she died," he responded in quiet tones and then smiled sadly.

 

"Oh."

 

"Oh, sorry, man."

 

"That's too bad."

 

"It's… it's, you know. Anyway. I'm… I'm dealing with it. It was a while ago." Thirty-three years ago, but the exact amount of time didn't matter. He was still dealing with it. He could hardly admit it.

 

"Grief is difficult," the dwarf said with a sad nod. "Have you talked to anyone about it? Mr. Hopper is a great therapist."

 

"Talk is good, yes. Sometimes you need other help, though. Have you… seen anyone else?"

 

Jefferson shook his head. "No. My… reputation prevents that."

 

"Oh…" Graham leaned back and snapped his fingers. "That whole thing happened after you lost her, didn't it?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Whole thing?" The other two asked curiously.

 

"Nothing," Graham waved them off. "Let's get a few more drinks in our friend here and then introduce him around. Forget all about that."

 

Jefferson didn't drink much anymore. Especially not living alone and devoting the entirety of every single day planning to get his daughter back. He'd have the occasional glass to help get to sleep or combined with something herbal to knock himself out when Milliner or the Hatter were acting up, but that was all. And he certainly didn't drink cheap alcohol. After about three drinks he was stupid drunk. The next three were just overkill.

 

"It is too bad Ruby didn't show up tonight," Graham commented over Jefferson's shouting at the television. "You are much more normal shit-faced."

 

"He put his knee down. Down. And… and she scares me." He managed to only slur every other word, still staring at the football game.

 

"Scares you?"

 

"No, Ruby is so fine."

 

"Her grandmother is the terrifying one."

 

Jefferson looked between the three of them and then snorted. "No. She's… the… it's the wolf thing."

 

"Wolf thing?" Graham asked, laughing. "You're back on the wolf?"

 

"Zzzyeah. Teeth." He tapped his own and then shook his head hard. "Nope!"

 

"Okay, wow." Graham wiped the tears forming from laughter and shook his head. "Yeah, fellas, I think it's time we took this hatter home. Eh?"

 

Jefferson giggled and swatted back at the Sheriff. "Hatter! I'm the Hatter."

 

"Yep. Sure are. Right, well, Gary, it's your turn. Call the wagon of shame. I can't be arresting myself for DUI and I don't want to be responsible for his public intoxication charge."

 

The ride home was a blur, so was actually getting inside of his home. In fact, Jefferson couldn't remember much of anything the next day when he woke up. That was evidenced by the fact that he was wearing a paper bib that read: if found, I'm lost, call the sheriff. It was written on the back of a menu from Granny's.

 

"When did I go to Granny's?" He asked aloud and immediately regretted it. His head was pounding, the sound just made it ten times worse.

 

Never again, he thought. Never again. He continued thinking that as he struggled to keep from being sick. Somehow he'd ended up passed out in his morning room on the couch. The sun was blaring at him, but trying to get up and move was a non-option. Not only did his stomach immediately turn and his head feel like it was opening a portal in itself but he couldn't say what was up and what was down. The couch was his island. He was never leaving it.

 

"Hope," he whispered, wincing still, "if you could see me, you would never let me live this down. I did something stupid. I think. I can't be sure. It's all a blur. A giggling, stumbling blur. Oh, I think I told the Sheriff Ruby was Little Red Riding Hood. That's if he understood me, which, I doubt he did. I need… I need something. Tea. Or… to vomit. I can't tell."

 

The rest of the day was spent slowly migrating from that couch to the kitchen then back to the sitting room couch where he collapsed in hung-over misery. He didn't even care what was happening a foot beyond his nose, much less outside. So when the doorbell rang he didn't even move to answer it. From underneath his blanket, he could see the shape of someone peering into his front windows. The low evening light blocked out his face, but Jefferson was pretty sure it was the Sheriff.

 

He grumbled and crawled from the sofa and then carefully swayed to the front door. He unlocked it then hurried back to the couch, grunting 'it's open,' over his shoulder.

 

"You're alive, then. Good." Graham strode inside, looking around curiously. "Wow. This place. Anyway, how are you feeling?"

 

"Ugh."

 

"Mm-hmm. I'd expect so. Just how did you get to Granny's anyway?"

 

"I don't remember. I feel like I walked. Barefoot." Jefferson flexed his feet and nodded. "Yes. Barefoot."

 

Graham chuckled quietly. "We did leave you undressing in your foyer. Thought you'd be fine."

 

"I wasn't. I was a fucking moron. That's why I don't drink."

 

"Yeah, you're a different person on the stuff. Funny, but a little nutty."

 

"More than a little. I apologize for… everything, anything I said and did. I can't believe I made you retrieve me from Granny's. The sign was a nice touch."

 

"That was Ruby's idea."

 

"Splendid."

 

"Oh, you were only minorly embarrassing. By that point, you were not really speaking but more laughing constantly. I didn't know you were a giggler."

 

"Horrible. Just horrible."

 

"Nah, but, listen, I'm glad you're going to be alright… eventually. I came by to tell you Ms. Swan just called me. She's accepting the position. I'm on my way over there to get her set up now. When you're up and about again, maybe tomorrow, you should drop in. I doubt we'll be busy. And, if you're nervous, maybe have a drink beforehand, but only one. Okay?"

 

"Yeah, yeah." Jefferson smirked along with Graham's joking tone and then laid back down. "I'm a lightweight. It's so funny."

 

"Uh-huh. But come, okay?"

 

"I'll be there."

 

"Good. Then you'll have four friends."

 

"Goodbye, Sheriff." Jefferson pulled his blanket up over his head as Graham strutted back to the door.

 

"Have some tea. That should help, right? Nice cuppa to soothe your stomach. And head. And embarrassment."

 

"Goodbye!"

 

"See you in the morning."

 

Jefferson growled as the door closed. He was in a chipper mood. It was disgusting. The evening had been a good change of pace, the first hour or so had actually been fun, and he was sure of that because he remembered that part. But the rest was foggy at best and that made Jefferson anxious and mortified. The Sheriff had drank as had his friends and none of them had become the rambling mess Jefferson had. None of them, so it seemed, were completely wrecked the next day. He wasn't doing that again. Not like that. Maybe he'd try beer, even though it tasted like poor nights in the inn. But then again, maybe it was worth it. It appeared he had made friends.

 

He thought he'd spend the night there on that couch. Didn't even want to bother to finish undressing, to take his bib off. He would just start over in the morning, pretend that day hadn't happened. But then he thought about the wolf. He saw it most often in the evening. Maybe he could actually be her first assignment. Despite having just been completely incapacitated and miserable, a shower and a fresh change of clothes later, he was feeling absolutely better, he was excited. Hopeful, even. Today he was going to make the acquaintance that might get him back to Grace. He was going to finally talk to the only bit of magic in this whole town.

 

Except, he was a coward. That was what he was telling himself as he paced frantically outside the sheriff's office. Just go inside, he thought to himself, go inside and pretend she's Hope. Just look at her hair and talk to her. It'll be fine. It's you and her and the sheriff, no one to interrupt. This is the opportunity. Do it. Go inside.

 

He didn't moved outside of his little circle. She was right there, standing just in view from the cracks in the blinds. Jefferson only needed to take about twenty steps to his left to meet her. Watching was more in his habit, though.

 

"Hope," he muttered under his breath. "I need help. I can't talk to another woman and you've been gone for thirty three years. I'm ruined." He stopped talking to himself as a passing woman stared at him. Instead, he looked at the cell phone he'd dug out of a junk drawer. Everyone had their faces in these things, he could pretend to be doing something while getting up the courage to go inside. As he was typing slash actually watching Ms. Swan she set aside a shirt and tie and picked up the badge.

 

Now, he thought, go in now. She's on duty, it'll be like you're coming in on busi-- Jefferson stopped arguing with himself as he grasped for the nearby wall. The whole town shook. The whole town had physically shaken when she'd slipped that badge onto her belt. Suddenly, they two inside were all in a frenzy, but that was okay, so was Jefferson. If that wasn't proof that she was the magic this town needed to change, he didn't think there would be any. He didn't need to talk to her just then. There was someone else he needed to speak to first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching 'Hat Trick' again recently, I noticed that I got some things misplaced in Jefferson's home, namely the positioning of the two telescopes, but I don't really feel like changing that. So, I'm just going to pretend that he keeps both in his studio and that that room has more than one-direction-facing windows. Meh.


	5. Hats and Herbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The town gets shaken up as does Jefferson's new place within it. Things tumble downhill.

"Well, well, well. Mr. Milliner, good evening. I haven't seen you in an age. What can I do for you?"

 

Jefferson peered around the pawnbroker's shop before rushing to the counter. "Did you feel that?"

 

"You mean the mineshaft collapsing? Why yes, I did."

 

Rumpelstiltskin as Gold took a step back, nodded towards the back office as Jefferson opened his mouth to go on.

 

"Come on back into my office. I'll write up those receipts for you there."

 

Frowning, and looking around again, Jefferson nonetheless scampered around the counter and into the back room behind Rumpelstiltskin. He waited until the door closed to speak again.

 

"It might have been the mineshaft collapsing but that isn't all it was. She did it." He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for the Imp to get excited about the news.

 

It was going to be a long wait. Instead, he looked Jefferson over as he leaned on his cane. "I see your hobbies haven't been as therapeutic as we'd hoped."

 

"No, no, they've been plenty therapeutic. Therapeutic to the point of boredom. Why aren't you excited? This is what we've been waiting for?"  
 

"A mine has collapsed, hatter, nothing more, nothing less. We cannot read too much into it."

 

"Except--except that it hasn't. The shaft didn't just collapse, it collapsed when Emma Swan put on the deputy badge. It collapsed because she made her decision to stay in Storybrooke final. She's changing things. She is."

 

That dark smile returned to Rumpelstiltskin's face as he listened to Jefferson. "You saw this happen?"

 

"I was outside the sheriff's office. I've been trying to approach her for days, since she got here, to find out more about her. After she decided to stay and the clock tower started moving, I knew she was special. I thought she might be magical. Now I know. What else could cause this place's foundations to shake?"

 

"What else indeed, hatter. Very good. This is good news, but I'm sorry, she can't help you yet."

 

"I just came here to--what? What do you mean she can't help me yet? She has magic, obviously has magic. I only want her to use it. If she can make the earth quake just by making a decision then surely she can give me my Grace back."

 

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. "She can, and she will, but not yet. She doesn't know about our world or its rules. Her mindset is unstable, her attitude towards things fragile. It must be delicately handled, and you're not the one to do that, not now. Stay away from her."

 

"You too?" Jefferson bridled at being forbidden to speak to her by the Imp as well. "I just want her to touch one of my hats, or talk to Paige for me. Just being around her makes things change. It could work for Grace!"

 

Shutting his eyes, Rumpelstiltskin tapped his cane and then leaned forward. "Listen, hatter, and listen well. I'm not going to repeat it. You simply cannot approach Ms. Swan. She's too important to be frightened off by a madman raving about hats and his daughter. She's not ready for you yet, not until she's been eased into the idea of it."

 

"I'm not raving!"

 

"No. I know that, but she won't. To her, you'll be a maniac spouting nonsense that sounds vaguely like something she's heard from her son, whom she believes to being coping via delusion. No. Not yet. In time, but not yet."

 

"In time? In time for what? Why?"

 

"She's the key. She's the one I need and we've been waiting for. You're correct. She has magic. Her magic will save us but if we jump the gun and scare her away, we'll all be trapped here for eternity!"

 

Jefferson jerked away as Gold's cane came slamming into the ground. "Okay, okay! I hear you. She's important. I won't mess it up. I won't… get my crazy all over her!"

 

"Good. You shouldn't even be going into town, not until I say you can. Or you'll ruin everything. The timing must be precise."

 

"Fine. I'll just wait. I'll do more waiting. God knows I'm practiced at it," he muttered and then sucked on his teeth, scuffing the toe of his boot.

 

"Yes. You'll wait but you'll have your chance soon. Don't lose yourself. I still need you sane for our deal. Go back to your herbs and hats."

 

"Yeah, my herbs and hats. Wait until I'm a convenient tool again. What's new?"

 

"And, hatter?"

 

Jefferson turned back from the door.

 

"No more bar nights. You'll draw too much attention to yourself. And don't think you can accidentally meet her via your friendship with the sheriff."

 

"Sure. No friends, no Grace, no leaving my house. You're so much better than Regina," Jefferson mumbled as he slipped out the back door.

 

* * *

 

 

The routine was difficult to return to, more so than Jefferson expected. Mostly it was because he'd grown accustomed to talking to the sheriff every day and the few other people he had to interact with to keep up his 'I'm in town to be an active citizen' charade. At home, in the woods, he could only mutter his sad prayers to Hope.

 

He did it anyhow.

 

It took a few days, but someone actually noticed his absence. Jefferson returned to his house one afternoon, having spent the morning as per his routine in the woods gathering and moping, to find a cold paper cup of tea with a little yellow note on top.

 

'You didn't show up. Missed a doozy. Next time.'

 

Jefferson took the cup inside but set it and its note aside in the kitchen. He couldn't do anything about it, Imp's orders. Might as well not stew over the friendly gesture not to be returned or acknowledged. The Sheriff didn't give up that easily. He called Jefferson's house a few nights later.

 

By the fifth ring Jefferson couldn't ignore the phone anymore.

 

"One phone call won't spoil things, Hope. Right? I can explain that I've not been well and that I changed my mind and he'll move on and not be concerned. We weren't really friends. He's just a kind person."

 

He wiped the nightshade juice from his hands and reached for the phone. "Jefferson speaking."

 

"Oh. You are alive then."

 

He immediately felt bad. "Yes, sorry."

 

"Hey, it's fine. You missed a big first day, though. It's… uh, it's only gotten more interesting. Well, you're alive. I've done my due diligence as sheriff. I'll see you around. Yes? Ruby asked after you. I'm… I'm heading to Granny's."

 

"No. I've--I've had a bit of a relapse." Jefferson grimaced through the lie. This was the best way to scare the sheriff off. "I shouldn't leave the house. So… so I'll be here for a while."

 

A sigh crossed the line. "Ah, that's too bad. I'm sorry to hear that, Jefferson. Explains things, though. Well, take care. Give us a call if you need anything. We're the authorities, after all. We help."

 

Jefferson said his goodbye and then stared at the phone for a few moments. The sheriff had sounded off, like he was brewing over something himself. Too bad. Too bad indeed. The guilt tasted bitter. Jefferson had been treated as a friend by this man and had accepted his kindnesses and then when he could have possibly somehow happened to help someone besides himself with something, returned that favor for once, he'd buckled, trapped by circumstance. It made him sick. Not that he honestly thought he could have helped the sheriff with whatever was troubling him, Jefferson had no experience with advice, that had been Hope's arena. But he could have at least listened.

 

He spent the evening finishing that week's hat, talking to Hope about what he should have done, what he could have done differently. It made him feel better and so it didn't bother him when he was forgotten again, left alone for the next week. What did disturb him was the jumbled and confusing voicemail he came home to find one afternoon.

 

"Jefferson, you were right. You're not crazy. Emma Swan brought something to Storybrooke. I remember things, things from a… another life. And, and the wolf! You weren't lying about it either. It's real. It was in my dream and then it was here. And I spoke to Mary Margaret. I--I saw her too, and I knew you before. And…and everything is just a screen. I feel empty. But, but, I think Henry Mills can help. He has a book that seems to fit. I'm going to talk to him now. You should find him, too. And, don't chase away my wolf! Okay. Come to the Mayor's house. Please. Help me convince somebody I'm not crazy."

 

It felt like his ears were going to burst, ringing as they were. Jefferson knew that feeling, the dizziness, the fog, the confusion and desperation. He couldn't let the Sheriff go through that and just stand by. That would be villainously cruel.

 

"Hope?" He asked of his ceiling. "Stay or go?"

 

As clear as if she'd answered for him, Jefferson knew he had to go.

 

"I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon. I'll make sure this doesn't ruin everything. It's the right thing to do."

 

In the middle of the day on a weekend, it was fairly difficult to get from his house into town, through the city center and to the Mayor's house without being spotted. It took Jefferson a great deal of time. A great deal of time also allowed for an unsettling amount of paranoia to find him. He was heading to the Mayor's house to talk to the Sheriff and the Mayor's son about their home. What couldn't go wrong? What if Regina found him? What if Ms. Swan showed up? What if Graham said something to Ms. Swan in his disturbed state?. He needed to go, if only to distract from Graham should the moment come.

 

Unfortunately, Jefferson was too late for all of that. By the time he arrived on the Mayor's street and peered around the house across the way, Graham was already back outside, and talking to Emma Swan. He stayed to watch the two of them talk, not able to hear anything, but able to see the emotions. At least he wasn't alone. Ms. Swan seemed to be enabling his 'delusions' if not accepting them. There was a connection there. Jefferson turned away when she laid her hand on the Sheriff's chest. This was private, whatever they were having. It was time he left. Graham had found the help he needed. The wolf that stalked past Jefferson on his way back would only help.

 

"Well, I tried, Hope," he said, tossing the keys down on the table by his front door and heading for his cellar where he'd left his gatherings for the day. "By this time tomorrow everything might be different. Or, it might all be the same. I left him with Emma Swan, the new one. I think he was remembering, so perhaps he'll convince her of the truth of this place and she'll be ready to help us. If not, then I'll maybe have a friend who finally understands."

 

The takings were smaller that day. Things were in the process of dying. He still had some things to work with though, tubers and evergreen leaves. Enough pine needles for a fresh batch of tea packets.

 

"Grace was out playing down the street on my way back. She was wearing this adorable hat. It looked like something you and I could have made for her at home. She, uh… she didn't run away when she saw me pass. I almost think she smiled, though I can't be sure. I turned away when I saw her looking in my direction. How pitiful is that?"

 

He started another hat that night, despite having already finished one for that week the day before. He wanted to have something to show the Huntsman to laugh about when he remembered who he was. About half way through he felt his hand go cold and he dropped his pommel.

 

"What was that, Hope?" He shook out his hand and shivered as the coldness snaked up his arm to his chest. "That was nothing good."

 

He knew the feeling of magic. This felt similar but worse. Dark. Jefferson bolted to his telescope, scanned the town but everything looked quiet. Then he saw the lights, flashing red and blue coming from the hospital. He followed them, felt his stomach drop as they pulled to a stop in front of the sheriff's station, attached to an ambulance. The blinds were closed at the station itself, he couldn't see inside, but he had an idea. That chill he felt, the way it slithered to his chest, it was from one specific type of spell that only one person in that station suffered from. His fears were confirmed when they wheeled Graham out on a gurney. Ms. Swan looked distraught. Several of the onlookers were crying.

 

Regina had crushed her Huntsman's heart.

 

Graham's death effectively shut Jefferson inside his house for several weeks. He had a great deal of emotions on the matter, but the most pressing one was guilt. He should never have entertained the idea of having a friend, but when he had, he should have showed up and fulfilled his end of things. He shouldn't have left Graham there with Emma to figure things out on his own. Before that, he shouldn't have spouted his crazies on the Sheriff. If you messed with Regina, she messed back. Graham might have left things alone if Jefferson hadn't egged him on about the wolf, or not mentioned the specialness that Ms. Swan brought with her. Or perhaps not. It was possible that he was upset for more selfish reasons, because now he was utterly alone again. Or, because he now knew that Regina could still crush hearts, would have people killed if they remembered. He couldn't use Ms. Swan to wake Grace up now. Wouldn't be able to approach her, possibly ever, after Graham's death coming on the heels of magic-themed delusions.

 

So, Jefferson panicked and fretted and mourned. All things he had his fair share of experience in, that he found sadly routine. Eventually, though it took him some time, he finished the Huntsman's hat. Late one night he took it down to the cemetery and left it there. He snatched up the wolf's bane that had been left on the grave and threw it away. It had, it seemed, already done its job though. That or the Huntsman's wolf had passed on with its friend. He didn't see or hear it again on his walks.

 

* * *

 

Not having anyone around while working through his guilt and grief took a toll on Jefferson. He stopped sleeping well, eating became a low priority and he spent most of his time in his studio. He didn't watch the town, though. He didn't want to see them, how they moved on or connected. He didn't even care what Swan was doing. He only watched for Grace.

 

He also never stopped talking to Hope. As in literally, talked to her through every moment of his waking day. The silence was not something he could handle anymore. It allowed his mind to fill the void and say dark things, bad things. Milliner reveled in Jefferson's restored grief, had shut down among others, but the Hatter had liked Graham, had said he'd been a better friend than Haigha, and he'd like Haigha. So the two of them offered contrary though exclusively unhelpful commentary throughout the days and it was them Jefferson wanted to talk over. Over the half-baked homicidal fantasies of the Hatter and the explicit suicidal haikus of Milliner.

 

"I sometimes wonder if they even care. They deliver my groceries every two weeks, right to the door, and they never say a word. They're probably scared I'll go psychotic on them. Thanks, Regina!"

 

Jefferson was unloading his freshly delivered groceries. More food for him to ignore and let spoil.

 

"I can officially blame her for every single thing that is wrong with my life except one. I lost you on my own, but I bet if I tried hard enough, I could find a way to blame her. And it's not like I don't tip them. I tip them handsomely. Except for when they break my eggs. You can't tip a grocer's delivery boy who breaks eggs. That's basically the first thing they should know not to do. That and not to squash the bread. Otherwise, they're just hauling trash."

 

He set aside the first empty bag, pulled the next onto the counter.

 

"I got parsnips this time. I don't really know why. Maybe because I thought they'd be something you would have liked and I'm feeling nostalgic. I considered making your mushroom stew. There's enough fall roots here to do it, and I have the mushrooms. Speaking of, I also ground the witch's toes I found last week. I don't remember what they're called here. The mushrooms. The hallucinogenic ones. I have a… a new powder now. I don't know when or why I'd use it, but I have it."

 

He paused and stood up alert as the doorbell chimed through the house. The delivery was there in full. He wasn't expecting any other visitors that day.

 

"I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon," Jefferson whispered as he shoved the rest of the cold groceries unceremoniously into the refrigerator and then tiptoed to the front door.

 

Whoever was darkening his doorstep was being unintrusive about it, so it wasn't Regina, which was simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. He would have loved to have invited her in and then poisoned her with some tea. Or not. Maybe not poisoned her, to death. That was the Wonderland side of him feeling vengeful. Maybe just knocked her out and tossed her over the town line, to see what would happen. Nothing good, surely.

 

He shook his head and stopped the fantasy short. It was best not to be in the middle of a murderous daydream when one answered the door.

 

"Rum--Mr. Gold. I don't remember scheduling an antiquities delivery today. But, uh… please, come in."

 

"Did I interrupt something? I thought I heard talking. I can come back." He had a long unseen glimmer to his eye as he grinned at Jefferson.

 

"No. No, not at all. Just thinking aloud." Jefferson closed the door and stepped around him. "Staves off the loneliness. Not that you'd care. What can I do for you?"

 

Rumpelstiltskin appraised him as Jefferson crossed his arms. "You're bitterer than last we spoke."

 

"Yeah, well, I regret even more now. Can we make this quick? I have groceries getting warm."

 

"You don't appreciate the company?"

 

"Not yours," Jefferson scoffed and turned towards his kitchen. "Follow me. You can talk while I unload. This feels like a riddling one."

 

"Oh, no, quite the opposite. I'm just here to deliver an…announcement of sorts. A directive, if you're in that sort of… technical mood. Won't you offer me something to drink? I am your guest."

 

Jefferson set down the potatoes he was re-bagging. "Would you care for some tea?" The tone of his voice couldn't be any more explicit of the true meaning of his words.

 

"Oh, well, I suppose not. Fine. I'll just get right to it. Ms. Swan has accepted the post as sheriff and even won the contesting election for the position. She's fought and struggled and shown that she intends to stay here, no matter what in order to be with her boy."

 

"Understandable."

 

"Indeed, it is, isn't it? The point being that, she's ready."

 

That caught Jefferson's attention. He set aside his stew ingredients and looked up at Rumpelstiltskin.

 

"Yes. Now you're getting it. Ms. Swan stayed, even through the sheriff's nearly hysterical process of awakening, through Regina's harassment and has now even become an integral member of town. She's not going to be scared off by you. So, now, finally, I'm calling to claim your end of our deal from so many years ago. You're finally going to have a chance to fulfill that oath."

 

"You knew it was her all those years ago? You knew we'd be stuck here?"

 

Rumpelstiltskin leaned over the counter, right up into Jefferson's face as he fumed. "I'm the _creator_ of the Dark Curse. I'm the _Dark One._ Of course I knew. Now," he leaned away, straightened his suit, "you must convince our stubborn new sheriff that magic exists. Do everything in your power to make sure she believes."

 

"Make her believe?"

 

"Make her. Once she believes, we'll all be saved."

 

"Make her?" Jefferson shook his head. He couldn't get it around making Ms. Swan believe in magic. "She's the one with magic. If she isn't convinced by her own hand in this town, what am I going to be able to do at this point? I thought it'd be different, something I could actually achieve, Imp."

 

"Ah, but you can! You mentioned getting her to touch one of your hats, presumably to imbue it with some magic. Was that your _hat_ hat, or a different one, because I haven't seen your hat in my shop."

 

"No…" Jefferson stepped back. "I haven't found it."

 

"Ah, such a shame, but perhaps all the better. Just touching one of yours, expertly-crafted as they no doubt are, won't do it. Magic must be made from magic. And what better way to be convinced of her own abilities than to see the hat she made spin to life, eh?"

 

The shudder that raced through Jefferson was uncontrollable, so were the twitches in his fingers that followed. The Hatter was suddenly awake, squirming and screaming. "I can have her get it to work." His words rang through in Jefferson's.

 

"Yes, I think that'll do," Rumpelstiltskin grinned, looking more like himself for a moment. "Show her what she's capable of, get her to believe."

 

"I can do that."

 

"Sure you can." He stepped out of the way as Jefferson started darting around the kitchen, finding things to do with his hands that matched the racing of his brain.

 

"I could meet her in town, invite her over for tea."

 

"You are a charming fellow when you have your head on straight."

 

"Explain that I'm looking for my daughter, see if she can help. You can engineer birth records for Gr--Paige that proves that I'm her father, can't you?"

 

"I don't need to. They already exist. You're her biological father according to the courthouse."

 

"That's a point of empathy, a discussion point. Maybe she'll feel a connection, trust me. I'll tell her I knew Graham, another. We can mourn together."

 

"She's not an emotional woman, hatter. Be aware of that."

 

"Maybe not on the surface, but she cried when he died. I saw her. Even if she's a self-proclaimed loner, she'll still need someone to talk to about it, eventually. Why not someone who shares other life experiences?"

 

"Very well, hatter, lay on the charm, but if that fails, remember you still have to find another way. I'll… leave you to your plots. And, maybe get a little more put together. Looking vulnerable is not going to do anything to your advantage. She walks all over that type."

 

Jefferson scoffed and crossed his arms.

 

"There. That's better, brooding and mysterious. Don't lead with the dead wife and missing child part. Let her guess for a while."

 

"Gee, thanks. And what makes you think you know all that?"

 

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged and picked up his cane. "Eh. I make it my business to know what people want. Good luck, hatter. I'll be in touch."

 

Jefferson followed him to the door, frowned after him as he left. Made it his business to know what people want? He'd known that, for years now. The Imp was an opportunist, but knowing the future this far ahead, playing that long game? He'd been there with that cradle, sent Jefferson to Wonderland for that stupid whisker, all this things that coincidentally led up to the moment when he could tell Jefferson to convince this woman of her own magic. Could he have engineered all of that? All of the pain that came with it? He admitted to creating the Dark Curse. Did he know all the people it would hurt, the effect it would have on each, including Jefferson and his desperation for his daughter? It seemed improbable but not impossible, and too perfect to be pure coincidence.

 

He shut the door and shook his head. What was he getting out of it? Rumpelstiltskin? Not knowing made Jefferson hesitant. By all means, he still sought out day after day to catch Emma Swan alone, but when he found the opportunities, that hesitation crept back up and he would second guess things until said opportunity passed. And those were few and far between.

 

They dropped to even fewer when the stranger with the motorbike rolled into town. He seemed to pop up anywhere Emma was going to be, even took her out of town one day, which left Jefferson in a panic. The missing person investigation added insult to injury and it very quickly became clear that Jefferson's time-consuming, slow game of romantic cat and mouse was a dud. She had too much going on, too many other options for spending her time. He wasn't going to be able to compete with work and the suave, mysterious fuck-head with the typewriter, not with his minimal people skills, and not off the cuff. He was sunk. Unless he could engineer a more controlled, easily scripted encounter, this wasn't going to work.

 

He couldn't come up with one. And when the missing person turned into a clearly framed-up murder investigation by Regina, heart-in-a-box style, Jefferson just gave up. He stopped leaving his house again and returned to watching, keeping one telescope trained on Grace, whom he spent most of his time on, and the other on the sheriff's station, just in case he spotted a spare moment when he could pretend to have an accident to get her to come to his house. That was pretty despicable, though. Hope wouldn't have approved. Jefferson only partially considered it.

 

Grace was playing tea party with a group of real friends at her first sleep over this particular night. Jefferson felt creepy watching for too long, but occasionally he'd stop reading and check through the scope. It made him very happy that she had friends finally to do this sort of thing with. It also hurt deeply that it wasn't with him taking care of her. It was during one of these self-flagellating moments that he spotted the car driving up his way. It didn't stop at any of the other houses, so it was definitely making the trip up to him.

 

He was standing on his front porch waiting when Gold's car pulled in. "Out for a night's drive?"

 

"Having a little peep up the road?" Rumpelstiltskin shot back just as quick while he climbed out of his car.

 

"I keep a look out. Why are you here?"

 

"Why have you stopped trying to happen upon Ms. Swan?"

 

"Question answering question leaves both parties wondering," Jefferson shot back, not believing that he was paraphrasing the Cheshire Cat. "I haven't stopped. I'm doing research."

 

"No, you've stopped. You saw Mr. Booth ride into town and you ran tail between your legs. I'm disappointed, hatter. I thought you were more tenacious than that."

 

Jefferson felt his jaw clenching but still managed to grin. "I know when I'm wasting my energy. Then, I apply it to something else. I also know when I've been set up and that I should be cautious."

 

"Oh-ho! Put two and two together, did you? Well, don't assume over much. Some things happened as… collateral damage." It was Rumpelstiltskin's turn to grin through his frustration. "Anyways, what are you applying said energies to instead? Another plan?"

 

"Watching. Waiting."

 

"Not good enough," the Imp snapped but then calmed himself. "As fortune would have it, I think I have a fresh opportunity for you tonight. Shall we… step inside to discuss the arrangement?"

 

Inside his front room, Jefferson stood pacing as Rumpelstiltskin sat sampling his whiskey. "You see, tonight something that rarely happens has landed upon your doorstep. Quite literally. The sheriff is out searching the town for her friend. She's heading your way. Ms. Blanchard, said friend, is lost in your neck of the woods. My thoughts are that maybe you should save her for her, for Ms. Swan. I imagine she will appreciate you finding Ms. Blanchard this cold foggy night. It's a good way to get her back to your house at any rate."

 

Jefferson stopped pacing and frowned down at him. "You mean Mary Margaret, the one who'd supposed to be locked up for murder?" He snorted. "Like she's going to allow me to 'help' her."

 

"Then make her let you," he sneered back at Jefferson from over his glass. "She's an escaped alleged felon. Ms. Swan is the sheriff. You're doing her job for her."

 

Jefferson sucked on his teeth as the Imp stared expectantly at him.

  
"Make her?"

 

"Make her."

 

"And then act like I've done Swan a favor?"

 

"You will have."

 

"That's the angle you want me to take? "I've forcibly abducted your friend, Ms. Sawn, so that you don't have to arrest her. Here, please have a cup of tea with me and make me my hat?!' That'll go over well."

  
"Or you could lie, as she assuredly will."

 

This was sounding worse and worse and the Imp was sounding more and more delighted. Jefferson growled as he thought about what Hope would say in this situation. "You first want me to abduct a woman and then lure another, the sheriff, into my house under false pretenses?"

 

"I want you to save one from hurting herself by crossing the town line and to show the other who she really is…" The slyness was not fully hidden by the false innocence in Gold's voice. "The details of how you must do so are just that… details, and I want you to get your Grace back. Don't you want that? With the hat working…"

 

"I can go home with her…" Jefferson reflexively looked towards Paige's house.

 

"Indeed. You could."

 

"And you think I can transition smoothly from whatever lie I cook up to get her here into her making a magic hat?"

 

"I think you're very resourceful when you have to be. And focused. The deal was to do anything in your power to convince her. How you get her to stay and make the hat is up to you, hatter, though my personal preference would be through one of those herbal concoctions you've become so adept at making. That way she won't hurt herself, might even make her more… open to the idea."

 

"If she's even willing to open her mind, I can show her. I can help her get it to work." Jefferson was nodding along now. He could do this.

 

"Yes. And you'll have your hat back. And your daughter. We'll all be happy and Regina will lose."

 

"She'll get it to work. I'll make her believe and I'll have Grace back." His head was buzzing, alive and excited and hopeful. He couldn't stop his fingers from fluttering, sewing invisible seams, pinning imaginary fabric. A good plan. A solid plan with steps already in place gave him energy and purpose like that first night awake. "It should be easy, right? She's bound to see the world coming alive around her, even if she's reluctant to admit it, and her son has the book that explains it all. She just needs a little push, from an adult. Evidence in front of her. You can't deny what you see."

 

At some point during his revelation and active rationalizing of this plan, Rumpelstiltskin had left. Jefferson looked around from putting on his gloves and coat to find his front room empty. He tidied up the house, the visible areas where he'd take guests, and then brought a few of his pocket squares and neckties. Just in case she resisted. He could tie her up and carry her back, but only if she resisted, which she probably would.

 

It was already very dark when he set out along the wood trails. It would be difficult to find one woman in all this vast, foggy darkness. Except it wasn't. In all her panic and desperation, Ms. Blanchard had left his woods a torn-up mess. There was a very clear trail of where she had crashed through. It only took him about ten minutes to catch up to her. Unfortunately, she must have heard him behind her, because she went crashing down another trail towards the town line. Now he really was going to have to do something unpleasant. He took the opportunity when she stumbled, grabbing her around the waist and clapping a hand over her mouth. She screamed, but there was no chance anyone was going to hear her, not this far out.

 

A part of him felt guilty as he dropped her to the ground. He actually stopped and fought over it, arguing the points in his head. In the end, he'd started this, and she was going to hurt herself crossing the line, he had to go through with it. He told Hope he meant nothing by it silently and then pinned her down, tying one of the cloths tight around her face, in her mouth so she couldn't scream. Then he tied her hands and feet and tossed her over his shoulder. Leaving her bound and gagged to a chair in one of his junk rooms was bad enough, setting out with a lie in mind was piling it on. Hope would have a lot to forgive him for that night.

 

It was easier than he'd thought to lie to Emma Swan. She made it easy by being flustered, but it was an old skill he'd cultivated with his big, vaunting persona all those years ago during his travels. He just had to shake the dust off. The secret was to tell mostly truths then slip the lie in. His name was Jefferson, he was unused to company on his walks, he did live all alone, he was an amateur cartographer, and he did think tea would help with a search. He just hadn't actually twisted his ankle, or even been clipped by her car. The rest were lies of omission, the easiest, simplest, most common kinds. That he'd already found what Ms. Swan was looking for didn't even come up, though he knew her dog Spot meant Mary Margaret. The tea was where he made his first mistake and fell into old habits.

 

The Hatter liked sedatives. The Hatter wouldn't shut up about the damn sedatives, so sedatives were what he slipped in her tea. Just a little bit of concentrate from that Jimson Weed, just enough to knock her clean out and leave her snoozing for half an hour. Nothing harmful. The Hatter was jubilant to see it in use. Jefferson, though, after she fluttered to sleep, stopped and reassessed the situation.

 

_Out, out, out! Out like a light! Better than dreamberries!_

 

"Shit." He blew out an exasperated breath, clicked his tongue. "That got away from me. You couldn't shut the hell up for five minutes so I could make a plan?"

 

The Hatter's excited babble quieted down and Milliner laughed wildly.

 

"Hell. What do I do now? I did not think this through. She wasn't even fighting me, she felt bad for me. I should have stuck with that. I should have given her that fresh batch of mushrooms! Now she'll just wake up and think I'm a psychopath, like everybody else…"

 

He knocked against his forehead and started putting together back-up plans.

 

"Fuck it. Let's run with it. Sorry, Hope. You'll forgive me when you see the result. This is going to work out for everyone. I'll even explain to Ms. Swan afterwards, once she's listening, and then, once she's convinced and believes, she'll forgive me. Just watch. I bet she'll understand that I had to get her to believe and use her magic, for Grace. She's here fighting for a life with her son. She'll forgive me my methods for the result. Handkerchiefs."

 

He snapped his fingers and whipped around looking for his silk squares.

 

"Duct tape!"

 

Jefferson gathered his materials and bound up and gagged the unconscious Ms. Swan so that he could go gather his hat making supplies and maybe a few things from the Forest, for convincing her.

 

"I'll take that!" He slipped her handgun into the back of his pants and laid her down.

 

Leaving her in the sitting room, he gamboled off, brimming over with excitement and hope. He needed to fix some things up, before he could bring them to her, clean his hat block, organize his pins, sharpen his scissors and he needed all the time it would take before she woke up. The problem was, he hadn't accounted for age of the solution changing its strength.

 

He was running over his pitch, reciting again and again how he'd spin this to her once she woke up when he heard the floorboard creak. She was scrappy, had somehow gotten untied. That was going to make things that much more difficult, for both of them. He was going to have to be forceful, really play out this date-rape drug user act. She was making it difficult for him not to do it now, even continued lying after trying to free Ms. Blanchard.

 

Jefferson, ignoring the Hatter's impatience and the growing cacophony of Milliner, had Swan tie her convict friend back up and then led her to his studio, alone finally. If he couldn't put on a show for her, he'd just make her show herself, starting with the hat. But she really was sticking to her guns, completely rooted in the denial she'd fostered since she'd gotten there, made Jefferson spell it all out for her. So, he did. Told her everything, as calmly as he could with the voices yammering in the background. He wanted to appear rational and sane, he really did. He needed her to believe. It didn't help, the magnetism that she had, the magic he could feel from her. It made his ears burn.

 

He told her how he'd saved Mary Margaret, how the curse would have hurt her over the town line, how everyone was trapped but her. Hilariously, she thought he'd taken it from her child's book. It was technically true, it all came from the same source, his home, his life. That didn't help him any, however. She'd looked through his telescope, found he was watching her. That was harder to explain and sound rational, so he went for the reveal, gave the long explanation, the one she wouldn't believe but needed to know. How long he'd been there, how nothing changed, except for when she got there, how she was special, how she'd brought magic.

 

Then, she called him insane and a part of him snapped. He needed her to believe him, to take him seriously. The last thing that he could stand to hear coming from her mouth was that, just like everyone else, she bought into Regina's bullshit and thought, if they couldn't explain his oddness, he had to be insane. But he'd been insane. This wasn't it, this was being right and nobody else being sane enough to see it and it was infuriating. He was on the verge of tears at the confession, the relief. The insane comment pushed him, the look of pity on her face hurt him.

 

He was losing his patience. He went for Hope's approach, the one she'd used on him in Wonderland. Proof and ignorance, seeing and believing, but she wasn't budging. He could feel his blood pressure rising, the tears in his eyes. He'd waited so long for her, so long, and she was just going to blow him off because she was stubborn and blissful in her dogged ignorance? No. He was going to open her eyes. Make her see, then she'd believe. Like Hope and done for him.

 

But she wasn't listening. When she asked what he wanted, instead of asking how she could wake up and see, the Hatter started crowing.

 

_Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!_

 

Jefferson was frustrated and hurt and indescribably disappointed. He echoed the hatter and pushed her into his chair. He could taste the magic around her. It was bound to work. She could get it to work. Then he'd have Grace. She had to. She was his only hope he had left. His only Hope left. He was straining to stay calm as she floundered with the concept set before her.

 

It was very simple. She had magic. Magic comes from magic. If she made his hat, then his hat would be magical. Then it would work. Jefferson could use the magic with what little was born in him and it would work. The portal would open. She couldn't get her head around that why he'd want more hats. It was obvious, none of them worked.

 

Then she did the worst thing. She called him that. She called him the _Mad_ Hatter. He couldn't escape it. The Hatter giggled in delight in his head, but Jefferson merely squirmed in discomfort and reminded her of his actual name. She knew his horrible nickname, knew the story based on his life, saw him sitting in front of her and still didn't believe. She was maddeningly frustrating, except not. No. He wasn't going to let this break him. He'd made it twenty-seven years plus without out a full melt down. He was going to keep it all in check.

 

She was going to make it as difficult as possible though. She kept talking through it, talking around him and rationalizing. He was growing more and more frustrated. The darkness that leaked when he felt trapped or lost or desperate starting creeping out, taking up more and more space. And that darkness, once it gained ground was hard to rein in, was tough to control. The others didn't make it any easier. It was Milliner's playground. The Hatter responded by singing out the Cheshire Cat's rhyme about the shadow's claws, none too comforting that.

 

She thought he was deluded and comparable to her fantasizing child, who wasn't actually fantasizing. The kid was right. Swan was so stubborn, wouldn't listen to his reason, was so close-minded. He had to threaten her. They could leave, they were always going to be able to leave, now it wasn't going to be until she cooperated. Then, everyone could go home. Happily. If she'd just stop arguing and work, it would all go by much faster and more pleasantly.

 

The incessant noise in his head was giving him a migraine, his blood pressure and frustration with Swan wasn't helping. He was going to lose something soon. Hopefully, it was just his temper. And she worked so slowly, wouldn't listen to his instructions without offering some commentary. It was like she was trying to push him over the edge. Milliner kept, out of character, suggesting in complete sentences that he should just drug her again. When she got frustrated and stopped working, he considered it. The mushrooms this time, but her gun was a better negotiation piece.

 

Eventually she put together a halfway decent hat. The problem was, it didn't seem to be functioning. He couldn't feel the magic in it, not enough at least. On top of that, she'd reached a breaking point. She snapped out in disbelief that he could be unhappy there. Jefferson was vulnerable, feeling the ceiling caving in on his future. So, he showed her Grace. His last ditch effort to get her to try again. Try harder.

 

And, after a bit of arguing over it, she seemed to believe him. She engaged in an honest-to-god conversation with him, asked him actual questions. Grace she could relate to, Jefferson's loss she understood, like he'd known she would. He was just barely holding it together, grief and guilt and mind-numbing desperation were breaking through his persona. She didn't understand the weight of knowledge, not until he explained, but then she did. She saw why he needed to leave, to get it to work. To not be apart. Then she seemed to believe, admitted Ms. Blanchard was her mother. She said it, said she needed to believe, that she'd try to get it to work.

 

Jefferson had felt a flood of relief. He'd done it, he'd convinced her to open her mind, now he just needed her to convince herself and believe. That was when the telescope impacted with his skull. When he woke up, all those emotions, the relief, the grief, the guilt, had channeled into the worst one, the desperation, and he flew out of his studio on a rage of recklessness. Oh, he'd get her to get it to work, if he had to keep her there for days, for weeks. She would get it to work. He wore the hat. He couldn't help it, the Hatter had the right idea. His single-minded obsession would make this a success. Surely.

 

She was a fighter. She was so scrappy and Jefferson didn't really know what he wanted to do. Just keep her from leaving. He went for her hair first, her lovely, long, curling, blonde hair. When that didn't work, he tried to pin her down. It didn't even bother him when she pulled away his scarf, exposed his scar. Maybe that would convince her, that impossible reminder of the fact that he'd lost his head.

 

 _Off with his head!_ The Hatter giggled in ironic glee. Jefferson tossed her away and took up his hat, grinned as Emma stared in shock. If she wanted the Mad Hatter, he'd give it to her.

 

"Off with his head," he echoed his counterpart, but without the enthusiasm. It was hard to get out of his lips, to put to words, the thought of it still made him shake.

 

She seemed astounded, like she might finally believe. But Jefferson didn't have time to actually find out. He was knocked over from behind and then kicked out the window. After that, it was dark. Darkness and air hissing past his ears. It was dark still and the wind was whistling when he woke up again. He was on his back, splayed out over a shattered room, his head pounding and his chest heaving.

 

Jefferson took a moment, completely confounded, to assess things. What day was it? Where was he? He didn't know. Then, the wind over the broken glass drew his attention, he tilted his head back and looked to the window. He was in his junk room. The window had been shattered open, so had a chair. Then it dawned on him, his madcap attempt, the way he'd lost control.

 

Tears streaming, he buried his face in his hands. Up until that point in his life, there had been two things in his life Jefferson had done that he regretted. Now, in the ruins of his obsessions, looking back on the previous night, there were three. What had he done? Why had he ever thought that would work? Kidnapping and drugging and lying and threatening at gunpoint? What had he been thinking? He hadn't been, not clearly. He'd been goaded on by the Imp, starved and tortured for attention by him and Regina. The tool to be used when convenient and yet, here he was guilty and exhausted, his hopes broken, having done exactly as told and what did he have for it? One more thing to hate himself over. Certainly not his Grace. Two more people would know for sure that he was the psychopath Regina had machinated for him to be. The only upside was that, because of the illegality of their situation that night, they wouldn't be spreading this discovery around.

 

"Hope… Hope… I made an enormous mistake, and… I don't know what to do about it."

 

He laid there for several hours, forcing himself to stew in the consequences of his action, before getting up and cleaning up what consequences he could. After that, he withdrew. He punished himself for weeks, not eating but to get rid of food that was about to spoil, not sleeping except for when he couldn't keep his head upright. He spent all day in that broken room and stared at what he'd done. He didn't answer the door when Rumpelstiltskin came calling. Not the first or second or third time.

 

After his first two weeks of penance sulking, he returned to his old habits, to keep the others at bay, but he didn't enjoy them. He watched Grace and slowly died on the inside for failing her. He made tea with cup after cup of more effective drugs for the situation with Ms. Swan than the knockout liquid he'd put in. Those he left scattered about the house, sometimes drinking from them just to torture himself. He watched the rest of the town now, though, as well. Fumed and cursed and ranted and raved as Regina sauntered about, delaying Swan's realization, got in the way of her awakening. The stubborn woman just needed to open her eyes and look around as Jefferson had told her. It was all there, flashing bright and red in front of her face, if she only knew how to look. That's what he should have done. He should have told her _how_ to look, instead of telling her _to_ look.

 

That's what Hope would have told him to do. Another time he needed her and couldn't make the right decision without her. A failure.


	6. Might As Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson's rollercoaster ride finally changes tracks but there's still work to be done.

"She's done it for a reason! I know it! She has spies everywhere, she knows what this means! It means something!"

 

Jefferson was in a rage, and, since there was no on around to scream at, he was venting at Hope.

 

"She had better not be threatening her. She'd better not be, Hope, or so help me… I'll… I'll take away something she loves… No, I won't. I can't."

 

He fell from pacing in front of his telescope to his knees.   
 

"I can't… I can't do anything, Hope. I'm useless! I'm powerless. I'm worthless, just stuck in this house like the absurd invalid she wants me to be."

 

Pulling at his hair was helping anyone. It certainly wasn't erasing the sight of that white rabbit card from Grace's bike plate. He needed to get up, pull himself together, and go do something real. That's what Hope would have told him to do. To do something about it.

 

So, he did. Jefferson got up, cleaned himself up nice and presentable like, put on his best I-couldn't-give-less-of-a-shit face and marched out of the house. He had to make a pit stop first, had to get that card off of Grace's bike. With it in his pocket he stormed to the Mayor's office. It was amazing how quickly people got out of his way. One of the perqs of being assumed to be violently psychotic while looking like a man on a murder spree. As he stepped through the front door he was torn between strangling Regina on sight and hearing what she had to say.

 

She called his bluff though. She was right, if he had it in him, he'd have killed her already. So he heard her offer. It made him feel sick. Hadn't he already done enough to this woman? Did he really want to be complicit in Regina's 'getting rid of her'? Did he want to stand in the way of everyone else regaining their lives? When it came down to it, as selfish and self-serving as it was, yes. If it meant having Grace back with him, he was willing to do it. He'd reached that point, waited that long, suffered that much. And, with the magic it was going to take to get this tool, Regina could do him one better, he could make him forget it all.

 

And, by god, he needed to forget. With a new story, a new batch of memories he could live in that huge house with Grace and give her everything she deserved and more. And he could forget Hope. As much as it pained him to think it, Jefferson was beginning to suspect it would be for the best, to finally stop mourning, to stop talking to her. It would definitely mean less pain and self-loathing, both things he'd had in excess for decades.

 

That deal made, he bit his tongue and saw it through, kept his eye focused on the end, on Grace. It would all be worth it for her. Besides, now he knew where his hat was, he knew that sleeping curse. If Regina decided to double-cross him, Jefferson was planning on doing the same to her. He would find someone to wake Emma up, maybe that Booth guy, he looked at her that way. True love's kiss was a great way to convince somebody. Once believing in magic, she'd break the curse and Jefferson would have Grace back that way. It was going to work out. Either way, Jefferson would finally have what he wanted. The latter would probably happen anyway, though Jefferson hoped it didn't. He wanted a fresh start.

 

Naturally with his luck, neither of those things happened. Everything turned out absolutely ass-backwards. The apple was eaten, but it wasn't Emma Swan who ate it, it was Henry. So, when Jefferson came to claim that his end of the bargain was filled and Regina owed hers, she reneged claiming it hadn't worked out right, the wrong person was under the sleeping curse. She wouldn't back down, or listen to Jefferson's reasoning, so he took another course of action.

 

He didn't have his Grace. He had nothing, not even his dignity or self-respect as he'd compromised those by working for her again. No Grace, no friends, no hope for anything better. The only thing he had left was revenge, and he aimed to have that.

 

Jefferson went straight home from the hospital and headed for his basement. He had a plan. It needed one thing.

 

"I'm sorry. I'm not coming back from this one, Hope. I'm not. I can't. So, might as well go all the way. At least I might end up with an ally or two. And this is the right thing in some ways, apart from the vengeance. That poor girl doesn't deserve to be down there."

 

He fetched the Jimson concentration and ran back to the hospital. There was still a big hubbub from the boy crashing. A part of him clenched his teeth and shut down, but the other part felt bad. It looked grim, but he couldn't take responsibility for that, too. Regina earned all of that on her own. Nurse face-planted, Jefferson stole into the basement mental ward and released Belle. She was severely disoriented, but not insane. He pointed her towards Mr. Gold and planted his fuck-you in the poor girls head and then set her free.

 

"Now who'll owe whom?" He mumbled as he watched Belle scramble off in her stolen sweater.

 

After that, he took a deep breath and marched stolidly homewards. He had a new plan. It was simple. If he didn't have Grace, he didn't have anything. He'd lost Hope and any chance to get back his daughter and his reputation in the process. If he couldn't have at least one of those things, he didn't want to live. Not like that. So, he was going to go to his house, change into his nicest clothing and drive over the town line. At least that way he'd have Hope back, and wearing decent clothing, maybe Milliner would have some self-respect. Completely without his original self, maybe Jefferson could be happy there. Maybe his cursed self would have a Grace this time.

 

And, if it happened by some exponentially dissipating chance that Emma Swan believed and broke the curse, then he'd wake up and then get Grace back that way. But he didn't want to hold his breath on that, so he was taking the easy way out, going to the town line. Might as well.

 

Jefferson had just changed his shirt when the curse broke. At first, he was astonished, felt the break of energy pass over him that he never thought would happen. Then, he was baffled. They were still there. Nothing had changed for him. He was standing in this absurdly enormous house in a five hundred dollar shirt and his boxers. Then, he was resigned to it. Nothing had actually been broken. Now everyone was just stuck here, knowing they don't belong just like he did. What was worse, they knew how long, how long they'd been there drowning in the monotony. Grace would remember he abandoned her, would know that she'd been there for twenty-eight years and that he never once found her. She would think that he was still gone, that she was still abandoned. He couldn't deal with that, not here, not in this place with its sour memories. At home, maybe. Here? No.

 

Jefferson shrugged and continued dressing. There were a few things he planned on stealing from Rumpelstiltskin's shop and then he was heading out of town. With some toys of Grace's Milliner might wake up with a daughter delusion. It was the best precaution he could think of. A trip into Gold's shop was difficult, he had to drive past all these people in the middle of finding one another. Stealing from Rumpelstiltskin, however, was very simple. Belle was a bit surprised to see him, but a quick finger over his lips and Jefferson was in and out with a stuffed rabbit and tea set in no time.

 

He seemed to leave at just the right time, slipping past Swan and Co. as they marched toward Gold's shop. They were too focused to notice him. He didn't get far though. Things were going swimmingly, until that damn wraith came tossing up a storm and dumped his car upside down. With all those pounds of metal sitting on top of him and his door jammed shut, Jefferson was stuck. He was stuck, upside down, under a car and no one could hear him shouting. No one could hear, or no one cared. When the shit show that the wraith brought boiled down, he tried calling out for a while again but to no avail. He was stuck.

 

And he was stuck in there for a while, the rest of that day and into the next. It gave him a lot of time alone with his thoughts. He thought about most everything: how Grace was responding to her new life, if she was hurt in the wraith attack, how the curse was broken, how long it would take for his head to explode once all the blood rushed to it. He eventually was able to lie down on the roof of the car and keep his head from exploding, but he still couldn't get out. There was something blocking his door. So, he kept at the pondering. He wondered how his life came to be such a complete disaster, if Henry survived, if Emma Swan might finally believe him. He lingered on that last bit for a while. He obviously still felt guilty about what he'd done to her, but he was also a little bitter. If she'd listened to him, this wouldn't have happened.

 

His back was starting to ache. Jefferson sighed and picked up his old reliable, talking to Hope.

 

"I suppose I deserve this, huh? I shouldn't have even thought 'I told her so,' not after what I put her through to tell her so. I know, I know. You'd be livid. You'd scold me about how nothing even remotely morally justified that and how nobody should have to go through that sort of thing. Then you'd make me go apologize. I would if I could. I will. But, you see, I'm trapped inside this fucking car! And I haven't peed in thirteen hours! Help!"

 

He kicked out in frustration, shook the whole car as he threw a tiny tantrum. As luck would have it, it was good timing. Like magic, his old hat, his poor burnt hat fluttered down on the car just then and brought with it Prince James. Of course, as per usual, the Prince wasn't there to save Jefferson. The fact that no one had heard him or helped him was of passing concern. The fact that he was okay was convenient because he needed to talk to him.

 

Dragged from the car, and on unsteady legs, Jefferson reluctantly tottered behind the Prince on a mission. He couldn't run, or he would have. His head was spinning, he was hungry and dehydrated, and the Prince didn't slow up. It was a relief when they sat down. Jefferson still wasn't sure what this was all about, but he had a pretty good idea. He'd seen his hat. It was the same old thing, he was useful, someone else wanted his skills. It was all getting very old.

 

"Where are we going?"

 

"To talk."

 

"Yes, I gathered that. Where?"

 

"Just ahead."

 

Jefferson groaned. This was going to be one of those conversations, focused, eye on the prize and not on the scenery kind of discussion. "Can I--"

 

"No."

 

"Man on a mission, huh?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And of few words."

 

The Prince pursed his lips into a frown as he looked back at Jefferson.

 

"Fine. Listen, I've been in that car for over a day. Can we stop and--"

 

"Here, sit."

 

They stopped in front of some picnic tables tucked out of the way of the street beside Granny's. Jefferson threw his head back but complied, trudging over to his indicated seat. "Prince James, look--"

 

"I'm David."

 

"David--"

 

"I'll answer your questions later. First," he sat down and tossed Jefferson's poor, tattered, charbroiled hat on the table between them. "Can you get me through?"

 

Predictable. Can't even let a guy use the restroom before he asks the most obvious question with the most obvious answer. The hat had a fucking hole burnt through it. In what world would that sort of thing work? Jefferson blinked at David's stupid question. "No."

 

"Can you get them back?"

 

Also obvious if one follows the logical steps. Jefferson rolled his eyes. The Prince pushed right on.

 

"Can you get it to work?" The earnestness was adorable, but the question was just too ironic.

 

Jefferson laughed, not completely without any humor. This was too perfect. Everybody woke up and suddenly his 'madness' had infected them all. Could he get it to work? The Hatter whined in his head and started mumbling his mantra over and over.

 

Giggling at the Prince's confusion, Jefferson finally replied, "if you only knew."

 

Not sharing in Jefferson's inside joke, the Prince persisted in his questioning, now actually considering Jefferson's situation. And, he made a good case, pulled in the daughter-you-love card, played it with sincerity. But there was nothing Jefferson could do, nothing but share in the regret, or whatever it was the Prince was experiencing. Desperation? He knew that flavor.

 

Question after question with the same theme. Jefferson was getting tired of being interrogated, felt like he was about to be commandeered again. So, he got a little cheeky. It was a defense mechanism.

 

"I'm a portal jumper," he shrugged and then waved a hand at his hat, "and you destroyed my portal, so you're out of luck."

 

The Prince didn't like that. Jefferson didn't like the result, but he'd been right. The threats were next. They were beginning to all sound the same. Get it to work or I'll lock you away. I'll lock you away until you get it to work. Very cliché, very boring, but enough to make Jefferson twitchy. He was a person, too, not just portal machine.

 

He didn't feel bad when he toppled over the table and bolted. The Prince was definitely sounding desperate and Jefferson knew where that led a person, a dark path with no regard for others. He was getting out of there. It wasn't like he could have helped anyway. The running felt good. He kept it up until he was on the edge of town and then slipped into the back door of the marine shop. Waiting out the possible chase and finally taking care of himself, Jefferson stuck around in there and then skittered towards home.

 

Grace wasn't at home. The very fact that she wasn't bothered him. He needed to know that she was okay, that she was well and happy before he left. So he scrambled around town for a few hours until he spotted her. She and the neighbors were at the town hall, outside at the crisis center. She was alive and well and she was his Grace again. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved. She remembered. But she looked sad, she seemed like she was in pain. He couldn't approach her.

 

But he stayed and watched them from across the street. Then he followed them back and watched them from the tree in their front yard. Around nightfall, the charade hurt too much, he was going to knock on the door, but then it hit him. What would he say? Literally what could he say to that little girl? Not a word, not any string of words could explain what he put her through. And what if she hated him? He couldn't handle that. Before he knew it he was sprinting away, running to his house again. His cave, where he could hide in the dark, all alone.

 

Jefferson didn't even talk to Hope that night. Decided he didn't deserve that. Instead, he dosed himself with a potentially dangerous amount of Jimson solution and went to sleep. The next day brought more of the same, more of the struggle. It was so close, he could feel it, being happy again. But Jefferson was scared. Scared and guilty and starting to second guess his sanity. After all this time, was it really possible that he and Grace were in the same world, that they were both awake and aware, that it was possible to be a family again? It seemed too good. It seemed impossible. A creeping, slithering thought found him, told him that this was a delusion, that the curse breaking had also broken his mind again, that only that curse had been keeping him from reverting to the out-of-control delirium that held him in Wonderland.

 

Nonetheless, he wanted to see. He wanted to see this town awake, see his Grace. He'd deal with the reality of things afterwards. He didn't see her that morning, not before he found the picture. It was fluttering in the wind, pinned to the corkboard outside the town hall. One of her drawings, one of him. She was looking for him.

 

Jefferson unpinned it reverently, cradled it in his hands. As he was studying it, taking in the shape of the letters, the way her handwriting was changing, a shadow passed over the page. Jefferson's body tensed, coiled tight with panic. He looked around, searching for the cloud, for anything. There was nothing. He ran. Ran away from the past, tried to keep it from catching his present and darkening his future. He ended up on the dock, though he didn't really remember deciding to sit there. The picture sat in his hands, resting on his lap. He stared at it longer than he knew. Questions raced through his mind. Some were the same. Was this even real? Was he imagining it all? Could it be possible? If it was, what would he say or do? What would she think of him? Love him? Hate him? New ones crept in too, in some ways darker than the others. Did he even deserve to find her? Wouldn't she be better off without him, without the selfish, psychotic, self-loathing man he'd become? Could he even raise her the way she deserved now? What if he never got better and abandoned her again? What if she was happier with this new family than she could ever be with him? What if he lost her, too?

 

He didn't know any of the answers. Didn't know if they were the right questions. He just didn't know.

 

The pressure was mounting on the threads in his mind. He felt the shrinking of the world around him, the loudness in his mind. The shadow terrified all of him, made him panic. A complete and utter break down was impending when Swan's boy showed up. At first, Jefferson thought he was imaginary, a figment of his delusion as well and didn't respond. He just risked a glance over at him and looked back at the drawing.

 

"…the Mat Hatter, right?"

 

That stung. This was probably real. Why would he hallucinate the kid anyway, and the kid calling him _that_? Jefferson flinched but listened to him instead of running. He wanted help.

 

"Look, I already told your grandfather," he muttered with patience and exhaustion, pausing because now he was sorry, especially for the boy, "I can't do anything."

 

Persistence was a family trait. Jefferson was beginning to see the resemblance, all the way through the line. Didn't listen and stuck to their guns like mules. He suggested something different this time, though. Told the boy to look for magic where the magic was, with his mom. When that was enough to stop the questions for help, the boy veered off course and poked his nose where it didn't belong. He asked about Grace. Jefferson didn't want to explain himself to this kid, couldn't really. He stuck to the basics, fear, fate, all the reasons he hadn't found her. But then the boy said something he'd heard himself say once.

 

"Anything's better than nothing. She'll spend her whole life wondering why you left her. Not knowing is the worst."

 

Not knowing _was_ the worst. Grace deserved to know, deserved to make the decision for herself. Not letting her was just one more way Jefferson was hurting her, being selfish. The kid was right. He couldn't let Grace live the way he had, not when he could do something about it.

 

"So… will you find her? Will you tell her? She won't hate you. I didn't hate Emma. I'm just glad I found her. You'll find her, won't you?"

 

Jefferson swallowed a small grin. So persistent, like his mother. "Thanks, Henry."

 

"You'll be reunited! Paige'll be so excited and I'll…"

 

Jefferson hurried off while the kid was still trumpeting his victory. If he didn't go now, he might never. Might as well.

 

"Hope?" He muttered under his breath, dodging confused townsfolk and edging down alleyways. "I think this is right. I think you'd tell me to do this. If not… well, I'm not going to think about if not. It's our Grace. It's what she needs, and then she'll make her decision instead of me making it for her. She's old enough now, has your head on her shoulders. She'll do what's best. I… I only hope that--that I'm what's best. I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon. I'll do the right thing this time. Promise."

 

He made it to the town center again just as the bus was letting out. So used to watching from a distance, he almost didn't reach it in time. There was a moment of struggle, to hide and watch her skip off happily, to not call out. But the kid was right. Jefferson stepped out from the sidelines and steeled himself.

 

"Grace." It was quieter than he'd planned, a little thick in his throat.

 

It didn't seem like she'd heard him, and Jefferson's heart sunk. Maybe she didn't respond to Grace still. Maybe she had heard him but didn't want to talk to him. Maybe she was ignoring him. But then her foot trailed, she quirked her head like Hope used to when something peaked her interest, then turned quickly to him.

 

Jefferson was holding his breath. He knew he looked a wreck, knew she would probably be ashamed of him, but he waited. She gazed at him like she didn't recognize him. Eyes wide, mouth in a little heart-shaped pout.

 

My hair, he thought, it's short. And my clothes, they're from here. She doesn't know me.

 

But then she smiled. Grace, his Grace, smiled at him like she had that first time, like he was the sun, smiled like her mother. She smiled and she ran to him and Jefferson couldn't stand anymore. His knees shook and he dropped to the ground, but it didn't matter, because that's where Grace was waiting for him. No hesitation, no anger, or fear, or hate. She flung herself around his shoulders and called him 'Papa' and chased away all the shadows.

 

His Grace, his dear, sweet Grace. She hadn't changed a bit. Not a single bit. Her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck and felt like they'd never left. His Grace. His life, his sanity, his grace all packed up inside this one, perfect little package. That all came washing over him and wiped him clean. He was crying. He knew he was crying but he didn't hide it. He was relieved, he felt lighter. Then he noticed it was quiet. The voices, they'd stopped. It was only him in there, weeping at holding his daughter again after thirty-three years, at being whole again, at not feeling guilty and dogged by worry, at being happy. He was happy.

 

"You found me. I knew you would."

 

Jefferson fell again at those simple little words, at the delight and sincerity in them. She'd never stopped trusting his promise, that he'd come back to her. She didn't hate him, not at all.

 

He closed his eyes and soaked it in. This was it. This was what he wanted, what he'd wanted for longer than he'd had it, what he'd waited for. It was exactly as he'd hoped. Better.

 

I did it, Hope, he said to himself. I found our girl. Thank you. Thank you.

 

He was never going to let her go. Never.

 

"You did. Of course, you did, my dear Grace." His voice was sticking, tears hot on his face as he picked her up. "I'm sorry I made you wait this long. I'll never do that again. I promise. I'll never make you wait and wonder."

 

"Papa, I missed you."

  
  
"I know. I know. I missed you, too. I missed you with my whole soul, Grace." Nothing could be truer. He'd missed her to the edge of his sanity and back again. For that, he couldn't stand to let go of her. He carried her all the way back to his house without a thought, even though she was too tall for that, even though people were gawking.

 

He carried her all the way inside the house and into the room he'd made for her twenty-seven years before. Setting her on the bed, he knelt in front of her and told her exactly what first came to his mind with as steady a voice as he could muster. He thought it was what she deserved to hear.

 

"Grace, you have to know-- I _need_ you to know that I am sorry. Sorry through and through for leaving you. I should never have done it and I have regretted it every day since. I didn't want to, I didn't want to break my promise, but I made a bad decision that affected you and I was wrong. I am sorry. Do you hear me? I am so, so sorry. I understand if you don't forgive me, if you're angry or disappointed with me, but I need you to know that it wasn't anything to do with you. It was my mistake, my poor judgment. I'll never do it again, I'll never leave you, and I never meant to abandon you. I'm sorry that I did. Do you--do you forgive me?"

 

Grace smiled, not a tear in her eyes, and reached her hand up to his forehead, pushed back a stray curl. "I forgive you, Papa. Don't be silly."

 

So innocent, so sweet. So like her mother. It felt like a warm breeze floated through the room, and Jefferson laughed through his tears. But he was crying, still crying. He cupped her chin and kissed her forehead, before ducking back to cover his face.

 

"Why are you crying, Papa?" She asked, hand on his. "I'm not angry with you."

 

"No? Well, you deserve to be." Jefferson wiped his eyes and then tapped her nose, smiling as brightly as he could. "But you're too sweet for that, aren't you? And I'm crying because I'm glad to have you back, Grace. I'm happier than a smile can say."

 

"I like it better when you smile, Papa."

 

He laughed and then hugged her again. "Mmm. Then I will do my best to smile for you, sweetie. My very best."

 

"Is this my room, Papa?" She asked several minutes later. Jefferson had lost track though, just holding her. He'd not felt this still for a lifetime. She wasn't still though. She was fiddling with his scarf and looping her fingers through his hair. "And what happened to all your hair?"

 

"Yes," he answered, looking around with a grin and tugging on his hair self-consciously. "This is your room, baby. Do you like? I could--"

 

"It's wonderful, Papa!" Grace chirped, beaming and then brushing his hand away from his hair. "I love it. And I like your hair, too. It's better."

 

"Really? Because I can grow it back out if you want me to."

 

She shook her and then started playing with the strands falling on his forehead. "No. This is better. I like it this way."

 

"Okay," Jefferson smiled, but couldn't keep back the tear or two that slipped down his cheeks. "I'll keep it this way."

 

Grace finished fixing his hair the way she wanted it and then reached for his hand. "Papa? Where were you yesterday? I couldn't find you and I looked everywhere. Were you confused? A lot of people were confused."

 

"Yes, I was confused, Gracie." He squeezed her hand, then tilted her chin up to see her face. "I was confused and scared."

 

"Why were you scared?"

 

"Scared? Well, I had several reasons to be scared." Jefferson tucked her hair behind her ears as he searched for the right words. "I was scared, baby, because I thought you might be mad at me, for leaving you," his voice broke, "that you would hate me for breaking my promise. And I was scared that I wasn't what you wanted… or needed anymore."

 

He was crying again, hard. The sobs choked his words and he had to stop to catch his breath.

 

"I'm sorry, Grace. I should have found you, then. I'm sorry," he coughed out.

 

"Don't cry, Papa," she said softly, pulling his hands away and wiping the tears from his face like he used to for her, when she'd scrape her knee or had a nightmare. "I get scared, too, but you don't need to cry. I could never hate you. I love you, Papa."

 

She kissed his forehead and then wrapped herself around his neck again. It took all Jefferson had not to sob. He sniffled and cleared his throat and smoothed the hair down her back until he found his voice again. "I love you, too, Grace. So, so much."

 

"I know, Papa. That's why you were scared."

 

"That was. I love you so much it scares me." Jefferson leaned back on his heels and tapped her nose. "Okay. Papa's finished being scared, now. How about we go downstairs and finally have our tea? Hmm? How's that sound?"

 

Her face lit up like the dawn. "Oh, please! I love tea and it'll be even better with you, Papa! Can I have peppermint? Mrs. Grace never had peppermint, but Ms. Blanchard does and I like it a lot. Can I? Can I please?"

 

Jefferson chuckled as he took her hand and led her down the stairs. "Of course, Grace. Of course. You can have whatever you want."

 

Grace chattered happily all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, swinging his hand, and hopping down each step, telling him all about her many, many friends and her classes and how much she had learned. She was very proud of that. She occasionally switched gears to comment on the house, to point out things she liked. Jefferson nodded and provided the occasional answer or explanation, but mostly he basked in the sound of her voice, real and bubbling up around him, in her energy and excitement.

 

In the kitchen he unlatched her hand and plopped her onto a bar stool, leaning against the counter and watching her as he waited for the kettle to boil. She very much was still his Grace, her hair like autumn sunlight and smile that wouldn't quit, but she'd grown since last he had her this close. She was a little older, a lot wiser. He was so impressed by her. She was so mature and understanding and smart as a whip, intuitive and precocious. And yet still had that charming innocence that made her endless stream of observations and questions cute rather than irritating.

 

Jefferson was entranced by her. She had so much to share with him and he wanted to hear absolutely every last thing. The tea kettle screamed its demand for attention and Grace obligingly stopped her story about the rabbit in the schoolyard so Jefferson could take it off the stove.

  
"And then Ms. Blanchard picked it up!"

 

"She did?" Jefferson grinned his surprise and pushed away the thoughts of the last time he'd seen Ms. Blanchard. There were some things he still had to work through. Then he remembered who Ms. Blanchard was and he felt even worse. The Prince had been looking for her. Trapped in the Forest with Emma. Jefferson would have to wait to apologize to her, to them both. Maybe he could do something to help the Prince.

 

"…about you, Papa?"

 

Jefferson shook those considerations away, bookmarking them for a later time. "What's that, my dear Grace?"

 

She took the cup of tea from him and bounced in her seat. "What--"

 

"Blow to cool it first."

 

"Yes, Papa." Grace pursed her lips and blew over the top of the steaming tea as told. "What about you, Papa? What were you doing? Did you have an adopted family? You were right next door! Why didn't I ever see you? Weren't you friends with Mr. and Mrs. Grace, our neighbors from back home?"

 

Jefferson stirred his tea as he took a deep breath. "Well, no. I was by myself here, Grace, and… and I wasn't very happy, so I didn't make any friends."

 

"You were all alone?" The hurt in her eyes was tangible, it panged over into Jefferson's chest.

 

"I was. I was alone… and lonely… and very confused. I--I was… sick, so I didn't leave the house much."

  
"You were sick and no one came to help you get better?"

 

"No. No one knew… and… and I had one friend, but he… he got sick, too. Then he… died. The Sheriff, Mr. Graham."

 

"Mr. Graham? I liked him. I was sad when Henry came to school and told us he was gone. What happened to him, did he catch what you had? Are you going to get worse, too?"

 

"No, no, Grace." Jefferson set down his cup to hug the fear out of his daughter's eyes. "No, we had different… diseases. His… was here." He tapped her on the chest, above her heart. "And mine was here."

 

Grace frowned when he poked her on her forehead. "You had a head disease? Like a headache? Ms. Pickett gets migraines, was it like that?"

 

"Not quite… more like it was my mind that was ill. It made your papa very confused. He did some things he shouldn't have, but mostly he was just very confused, very sad and very lonely."

 

Grace stuck out her bottom lip for a second and then leaned up to kiss his forehead. "I'm sorry, Papa. But you're all better now."

 

"All better," he agreed. "But, I do have some things to make up for. You should know that because I'm not going to keep anything from you anymore, Grace, or leave you alone while I take care of them. We can talk more about that later, though, yeah?"

 

Grace nodded her head slowly and then sipped at her tea. "Papa?" She asked quietly. "You… you haven't found Mama here, have you?"

 

Jefferson smiled. She liked that better than tears. "No, baby, she's not here either. She's still gone."

 

"That's what I thought," she replied into her mug. "But I kind of hoped. I had a dream about her last night."

 

"You did?" Jefferson rubbed her back as he saw her eyes reddening. "Do you want to talk about it?"

 

She nodded and sniffled. "It wasn't very long, but Mama held me and told me to be good and that I was her darling girl. She smelled good, like flowers."

 

Jefferson nodded and rested his chin on top of her head. "She did, didn't she? The sweetest flowers. Your mama did love you, too, more than anything. You were here favorite thing in all the worlds, what she was most proud of. I think that might have been a memory, now that I think about it.  That was what she told you every time we took you to play with Ms. Geraldine."

 

"It really happened?"

 

He spun Grace around in her bar stool and ducked down level with her eyes shining just like her mother's. "It sure did. You remember that. And remember that she's still around. In here," he laid a palm over her head, "in here," on her chest, "and right… here." He tapped her nose again and winked when she giggled. "You look just like her, baby, and you act more like her every day. She's not gone if you remember her, okay?"

 

"Okay." Blinking away her tears, she nodded towards the tea in her hands. "And, Papa?"

 

"Yes, Grace?"

 

"Where did you go? Why didn't you come back?"

 

Jefferson sighed deeply. He knew he'd have to talk about this eventually. "I went to another world, like how this place is a different world from home. It was called Wonderland--"

 

"Like _Alice in Wonderland_?!" Grace asked, perking up in surprise.

 

"Yes, precisely that. I went to help the Queen save something, but… she tricked me and I got stuck there. The Queen took my magic hat and left me, so I couldn't come home to you, darling, even though I tried very, very hard every day I was there."

 

"Your hat?"

 

"Mm-hmm. It was a special hat that could open doors in between worlds and without it I couldn't open the door home."

 

"Why couldn't you come another way?"

 

"Well, I tried. I tried to make another hat, but… a hat without magic is just another hat, so I was trapped."

 

"You made hats?" The caution in his daughter's voice made Jefferson nervous.

 

"I did."

 

"You were in Wonderland and you made hats?"

 

Jefferson knew where Grace was going, could see the concern in her eyes. He nodded all the same.

 

"Papa, were… were you the Mad Hatter?"

 

The name didn't sound any less bitter coming from his Grace's lips. He dropped his chin to his chest and pressed his fingers to his eyes.

 

"It's okay, Papa. Henry Mills says the book got it wrong. He said that and Mr. Bryant got angry with him, but I believe him. Maybe Alice got the story confused."  
 

Jefferson chuckled softly as he looked up at her. "She did get some things a bit wrong, but I was sick there, too, Grace. I was very scared, and worried, and unhappy. That does nasty things to people and I was… determined to get home to you."

 

Grace watched him with thoughtful eyes while Jefferson explained, pulling at his scarf unconsciously, from the nerves.

 

"Why are you wearing a scarf inside, Papa?"

 

Jefferson scoffed at himself, tucked the fabric back in place and stopped fidgeting. "No reason, baby."

 

"But it's warm inside. You don't need it. Are you fibbing, Papa?"

 

He held still, his breath baited as Grace reached up and untied the knot at his throat, twisted it away carefully from his neck. She hardly reacted when the fabric fell away. Just a little crease appeared between her brows and her lips pursed into her mother's heart-shaped pout.

 

"Papa, what happened?" Her fingers explored the scar carefully but not timidly.

 

"The Queen of Hearts--" he paused when she gasped and covered her mouth.

 

"She didn't! She…she…" there were tears in her eyes again and she pressed the scar more adamantly. It was only whisper when she finished, "she cut off your head?"

 

"It's okay, Grace, it's okay. Shh. Shh. Look, look at me. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm here. She did, but your papa's fine. See? Feel." Jefferson cupped her face in his hands, then put her palms on his neck, over his heart. "See there? I'm alive and fine. Don't cry. Shh."

 

Grace sob into his shoulder, fingers clenched into his shirt. Jefferson let her get it out. It was about time, had been an emotional day. When the balls quieted to whimpers, he leaned her away and wiped away her tears.

 

"There. Better? I'm fine. I was always fine. Things work differently in Wonderland. They just, pop!, popped it back on and I was back to normal."

 

"Just pop?"

 

Jefferson thought this was an allowable lie. He'd traumatized her enough as it was. "Yep. Just pop! And I was fine. See? Still works." He rotated his head, bent his neck to prove it was fine.

 

Grace sniffled and eyed his neck with such deep pain Jefferson wished he could make the scar disappear for just her sake. After a minute she reached back out and put her palms on either side of his neck.

 

"Yeah, feel that. Solid."

 

"Not coming off again?"

 

"No," Jefferson laughed. "It's stuck on for good."

 

Grace nodded and then picked back up her cup. "Why do you hide it? Are you embarrassed by it?"

 

"A little," Jefferson admitted, "but mostly I don't like how it scares people, how they stare. And having to explain is… well, it's uncomfortable and confusing."

 

"That Queen isn't here, is she? The Queen of Hearts?"

 

"No, no, she isn't."

 

"Good." There was a hint of anger in Grace's voice. "I wouldn't want her here."

 

"Me neither, darling. Me neither. Now." Jefferson stood back up and walked over to the refrigerator. "It's almost dinner time. I hadn't planned anything today, but I have enough in here to make chicken and vegetables. Do you still like mushrooms and squash?"

 

"Yes, Papa, but I need to go back to Mr. Owen and Mrs. Crystal now."

 

"Oh," Jefferson wilted, his mood instantly darkening. He'd forgotten about her curse-parents.

 

"Don't worry, Papa, I'll come back after for dinner. I promised them, though, if you found me that I would come back and tell them so they wouldn't worry. You can come, too! They're just next door, and you know them! It'll be fun, like having friends again, Papa. Come on!" Grace leapt down from her stool and snatched up Jefferson's hand, dragging him past the stove and cabinets and then through the door.

 

Jefferson allowed himself to be towed along, but he wasn't exactly happy about it. He was nervous. He didn't like the idea of talking to people he knew before Wonderland.

 

Suddenly, he remember and pulled free from Grace's hand. "Hold on, sweetie. Hold right there. I need my scarf."

 

Grace was frowning when he jogged back to her, tying it carefully around his neck.

 

"Sorry, baby. I don't want to explain all that just now." He didn't, that was the last thing he needed to have on his plate on top of the other questions they would undoubtedly have. They would already be asking where he went, why he didn't come back, how he got here from there, why no one had seen him before. Besides that, they might not want to give up Grace. Who would? That was going to be difficult. He didn't know if he could make his case as well as Grace needed him to.

 

Nonetheless, he trudged over to the next house behind Grace's little uniform skirts, studied his boots carefully as she rang the doorbell.

 

"Oh, Grace, bug, you found him!" Crystal was the first to open the door. "My goodness, Jefferson, I hate to admit it, but we were having a hard time dealing with Grace's expectations that you were here. We tried to tell her, to help her manage those expectations but she was absolutely adamant. And she was right! How are you?"

 

Jefferson looked up, grinned bashfully. "Hi Holly. I'm better now. How are you? Uh… thanks, for taking care of her, I'm… I'm sorry."

 

"We're good. Why don't you come on in, you two. Grace, do you want to go get your stuff?"

 

They watched as Grace scampered up the stairs, then Holly/Crystal turned back to Jefferson. "I can't believe you're here. We thought you were dead."

 

Jefferson dropped his head. "I was near to it, stuck in another land, but I'm back now, and I can't begin to properly apologize or thank you."

 

"On, don't worry about it. Grace is an angel."

 

"Yes… she is… are we… going to have any problems here? I can compensate you for all the time and--"

 

Holly was shaking her head, patted him on the arm. "Don't you worry about it. It's been a joy, but she's your daughter and it's you she wants to be with. James and I are trying again anyway, we discussed it last night. It would be silly for us to try to keep her. Silly and cruel. Hey, while I'm thinking about it…" she waved at Jefferson and stepped into the next room up to several cardboard boxes. "Here are some of her things we boxed up last night when she insisted she'd find you. There's ton more to be done, but these should help for now."

 

"Thank you," Jefferson half-whispered as he bent over and gathered them up. "I… I will pay for all this. And for all the other stuff."

 

"Oh, please, Jefferson. We hardly paid for any of it ourselves. Stop. I'll box the rest up--"

 

"Please. Let me. It's the least I can do."

 

She nodded. "That's fine. Grace still has a key to the house, James and I are going to see Dr. Crane tomorrow, so we'll be out of your way around midday, if you want to come over then. Otherwise, we can help in the evening."

 

"I'll have it out of your way before you get home," Jefferson assured her, nodding hard.

 

"Alright, okay, whatever works best. There you are, bug, all packed up. Your dad and you can come back over tomorrow to get the rest."

 

Grace hugged her around the legs and hoisted her little unicorn backpack higher. "Sure thing, Ms. Crystal, uh, Ms. Holly!" She laced her fingers into Jefferson's hand and tugged. "I can still come over and have play dates, can't I, Papa?"

 

Jefferson smiled weakly, "of course, if Ms. Holly and Mr. James want a tiny, talkative visitor."

 

"Of course, whenever you want, bug," Holly responded warmly and then looked carefully at Jefferson. "If you need any help ever, just let us know. Okay?"

 

Jefferson bobbed a nod and then nudged Grace to the door. "Thanks again."

 

"Not a problem. And… Jefferson?"

 

He turned back.

 

"You are… okay, right? We… heard some rumors today." Holly grimaced like the news was unpleasant to share.

 

"The rumors are the Queen's doing, though admittedly I wasn't completely okay, but I am now. Now that I have my Grace."

 

Her warm grin returned. "That's what I thought. See you soon. Bye-bye, bug!"

 

The rumors bothered Jefferson the rest of the evening, tugged at his attention while they made and ate dinner, tickled and itched as the two of them began unpacking Grace's belongings into her new room. Finally, because he didn't know what they were, the extent of their truth or their spread, Jefferson had to address them.

 

He rubbed his face and then pulled Grace away from organizing her stuffed animals on her bed.

 

"What's wrong, Papa?" She could read him like a book same as Hope had.

 

"Listen, Grace, baby. Remember how earlier I said there were some things I did that I shouldn't have?"

 

She nodded.

 

"Well, I was going to tell you this another time, but Ms. Holly made me wonder if that was the best choice. Rumors about your papa have been spread around this town. Most are made up, fibs by the Queen so that Papa would behave, but there is a possibility that some true ones have started and I want you to hear what they're about from me first. Okay?"

 

"What is it, Papa?"

 

"Whew…" Jefferson blew his breath through his teeth and pondered how best to tell his daughter he'd kidnapped her teacher and the sheriff and did other unsavory things. "Okay… remember how I said before I found you I was… I was sick?"

 

"Your brain was sick."

 

"Yep. Okay, well, I made some bad choices and… and because I so wanted to get you back, dear Grace, I did a few… illegal things."

 

"Illegal?"

 

"Mm-hmm, things that were assuredly against the law and definitely not good. I regretted them afterwards, but that doesn’t matter, I did them and that was wrong."

 

"What did you do?"

 

"Well, when Snow White, Ms. Blanchard, was in jail she escaped and… and I caught her and kept her here, because I needed the sheriff's help who was out looking for her, you know Ms. Swan, Henry's mother."

 

"You kidnapped Ms. Blanchard?" She looked more quizzical than upset.

 

"I did, and I kept her here while I convinced Ms. Swan to come inside. I lied to her and then tied her up too and… and tried to get her to make… to make a magic hat." Jefferson let his chin drop to his chest and sighed with his whole body.

 

"To go home?"

 

"Yes, so we could go home. She didn't believe me and tried to run away… and… and this is the worst part, I tried to make her stay but, luckily, Ms. Swan can take care of herself and kicked your papa's butt and set him straight." He chuckled feebly and then glanced up to assess the damage.

 

Grace was studying him with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. Hope couldn't have done a better job looking more like herself.

 

"Even grown-ups act out, don't they?"

 

Jefferson snorted and shook his head. "'Misbehave' is a little weak, but something like that. Yes, everyone is capable of making bad choices, even grown-ups and it's usually worse when we do because we should have learned by then."

 

"Well, have you?"

 

"Have I what?"

 

"Learned your lesson?"

 

Jefferson laughed but then promptly nodded penitently. "Yes, dear Grace, I have learned that all my actions have consequences and I should never do anything that might even possibly hurt someone else, even if it seems like it'll turn out for the best."

 

"That's a very good lesson," Grace commented solemnly. "Well, I forgive you, Papa. I know that you were not yourself and that you're very sorry."

 

"I am, I'm so sorry."

 

Grace fiddled with his waistcoat's collar, obviously thinking about something. "Did you apologize to Ms. Blanchard and Ms. Swan before they fell in that hole?"

 

"No, baby, I didn't. I was too ashamed to find them."

 

"You should have. Henry's worried they won't come back." She glanced up suddenly. "Do you think you could help them? With your hat?"

 

He laughed sadly and tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. "I don't have magic, Grace. If I could help them, I would. I certainly owe them that. And, when they get back, I will apologize first thing. Okay?"

 

She nodded. "Okay. You couldn't even try? To make a magic hat? Everyone says that that big purple fog was magic. If it's back you could maybe get some of it in a hat."

 

"Trust me, my dear Grace, if that's how it worked, then I would have had you back in my arms many years ago. But, for you, I'll try. I'll make one special hat for David, Henry's grandfather. Maybe he can find a way to put some magic in it. Sound good?"

 

Grace grinned brightly. "Yes! I bet you can do it, Papa. I believe in you."

 

"Okay, sweetie," he chuckled and patted her back, "come on, to the bathroom, teeth brushed and ready for bed. Off you get."

 

He stood outside the door, overseeing things and considering that promise. What was one more hat? No harm there. And he certainly would have appreciated the help and hope when he was in a similar situation. David and Henry would do well to forgive offenses with a bit of help. Emma and Snow might be more willing to forgive when they returned if they heard he'd helped, less likely to sic Prince Stubborn on him for his previous crimes.

 

Finally, he shrugged. Might as well.

 


	7. Chicken Soup for the Soul or Existential Aspirin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curse broken and lives restored, old and new wounds are allowed to heal.

Life with Grace was a far sight better than that without her. It had its rhythms and patterns that it required with her school and her activities, but they were too lively and happy to be called routine, not after what that had meant for Jefferson the past decades. They didn't keep him from going insane by rooting him in the moment and the regular, they constantly surprised and delighted him, allowed him to enjoy his sanity. And Jefferson enjoyed every second of it. Making Grace content, safe ,and healthy sated a need that had been left to go savage and feral for ages. It gave him a sense of peace and his own contentment. The best was her smile. It nourished his soul.

 

There were still things missing, of course. He yearned after Hope, after companionship, but that took an extreme back seat to the rest of his life. Hope could be remembered in his night time prayers, his companionship patched over a little later to the thought of her. That didn't change. But the rest did, the rest made those compensations tolerable and even sometimes forgettable instead of necessary balms.

 

The nights weren't torturous anymore. He checked over homework with Grace, would watch some television with her or read a story, would tuck her into bed with a smile and a happy sigh. His time alone became something he could hold his breath through, then something he enjoyed in its own right. Most importantly, Jefferson slept. He slept soundly and without any aides. He actually stared having pleasant dreams again. He woke refreshed in the morning, eager to start his day.

 

Jefferson was a new man, or an old man, whichever way one wanted to look at it. He loved the mornings, eagerly awaited the afternoons and cherished the evenings. Grace was a morning child, like her mother, woke up with the birds and chirped happily right along with them. Jefferson possibly liked breakfasts the best. Grace would chatter and laugh, planning their afternoon and evening, sometimes their weekends, as she made tea and Jefferson fixed her breakfast and packed her lunch. She would test out reports or study for tests some days and Jefferson was able to glow with pride at her wit and intelligence. Then, all dressed and lunch packed away -- always something different, though Grace sometimes still insisted on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches --he would walk her into town all the way to the bus stop. And every day without fail she would tug on his hand until he bent over and then hug him hard around the neck. She wasn't embarrassed or shy about it either. It made Jefferson feel alive and ecstatic to be so. He knew one day hugging her dad at the bus stop would be childish to her, or even having him around in public would be humiliating, so he cherished it with every piece of him.

 

The time she spent in school, the eight hours in the middle of the day were the hardest for Jefferson at first. He didn't know what to do with himself, could only think about three o'clock when he would pick her up again. Jefferson's life was one of extremes: with or without, mad or sane. He didn't know how to have Grace and not have her with him every minute. He'd forgotten. Naturally, in those first days, he reverted to old habits when she was away, spent the mornings in the woods, collecting here or there, talking to Hope about them, about Grace. He had to talk to her when he was alone, Grace wouldn't have understood. After lunch he would peeter about the house, doing chores, reading, but he avoided his studio. He didn't trust himself to go in there alone. Too many bad memories.

 

That meant that he didn't start on the new hat for a bit. In fact, it was not until Jefferson figured out how to spend his free daytime in town like a normal person that he considered hat-making again. To begin with, he'd stayed in town after dropping off Grace to pick up some groceries. Then, on his way home he noticed the cleaners had some old, precious pieces hung aside. He could see through the window that they were damaged, but no one had done anything to repair them. So, he'd taken his groceries home and then stolen back to the cleaners. The owner had once been a mouse and just didn't know those particular techniques, so Jefferson had stitched it up for them quickly. After that, he'd stop by on occasion to do some mending, sometimes to repair or replace whole bits if the fabric was around. Other days, he'd volunteer at the hospital or the veterinarian's to pass the time. One day he even spent all of Grace's school time helping Bobby, who had apparently also once been a mouse, reorganize repair invoices. He just thought he'd contribute his plentiful spare time to the community.

 

But he avoided the sheriff. Whenever he saw David or his beat up truck heading his way, Jefferson scampered inside somewhere. He still wasn't ready to face him. Or Regina. Regina he still loathed, regardless of her diminished position. And besides, she had magic now, so he gave her a wide berth. One day, after trading some herbs with Rumpelstiltskin for more of Grace's old toys, he walked straight into the Prince.

 

David frowned at him for a moment, but broke into an easy grin soon after. "I heard you reunited with your daughter. Congratulations."

 

"Thanks," Jefferson bobbed his head. It took all he had to stand still. He scuffed the toe of his boot over the sidewalk in place of setting it apace. He was still itching to run. "Uh… I'm sorry… about before."

 

"I understand. I was being a little forceful."

 

"Well, I of all people should have understood that. Listen, your grandson did me a favor. I owe him… and your wife and daughter."

 

The Prince quirked his eyebrow up. "How do you owe Snow and Emma?"

 

Jefferson waved his hand. "That's not important right now, what I mean to tell you is… I'll make you a new hat."

 

"A new hat. Why would I want a new hat?"

 

"My hat is destroyed but if you could find some source of magic to imbue a new one with, it might work."

 

"Really?"

 

"It might, if you can find some way to put magic into it."

 

David really smiled and then held out his hand to Jefferson. "Thank you, Jefferson. I would appreciate that."

 

"No problem. I'll--I'll have it to you by the end of this week." He smiled to show good faith and then darted off.

 

That evening while Grace was working on her math homework he finally opened the door to his studio again. He made a bit of a fuss about it, opening the long-sealed door loudly and scuffing over the floors with heavy heel. Even in this improved state of mind he didn't want to be in there alone. There were probably better ways of going about it, but Jefferson hoped he would pique Grace's interest with his little show.

 

"What are you doing, Papa?" She called up to him from downstairs after a few seconds. 

 

"I'm going to start on that hat for Henry and the Prince. Would you like to come sit with me?"

 

He was massively relieved when she chirped back that she would and came skipping upstairs. She sat across from him mumbling sums under her breath and every once in a while peeking up to watch him work. She was fascinated with it and eventually, with her homework all finished up, she tiptoed over to watch over his shoulder. She was quiet, but clearly interested, bobbing in and out of his peripheral vision as he moved the hat from hand to hand.

 

"Would you like a better seat, little spy?" He asked when she leaned all the way over his shoulder to peer at the tiny scissors he was using. "I can show you."

 

"Oh, will you, Papa?!"

 

"Mm-hmm. Come here." He scooted out his chair and patted his knee. "Sit there. I'm going reach around you, follow my hands. You know, I taught your mother once, or rather, I tried. She had other things in mind."

 

Grace ran her fingers over the cloth he'd just smoothed and pinned. "Other things?"

 

"Yes," Jefferson snorted at the private memory. "She preferred more active pastimes, or being outside. Here. You try to pin it. Make sure you get it smooth as glass."

 

He watched, giving little hints and encouragements as Grace covered the next panel of wire with near perfect technique. She had been soaking in his motions in like a sponge. An hour or so later, he sent her traipsing off to wash up for bed very proud of herself as he set the half-finished hat on its stand. She'd done a fine job. He couldn't help bragging to Hope right then.

 

He did so quietly, under his breath. "My word, Hope, you should see her. She watched me for an hour and then stretched nearly the entirety of the hat on her own. She's brilliant and eager. You'd be so proud." He scoffed, "and she's more patient than you. She'd going to be far better than us both, Hope. Far better."

 

"Papa?"

 

He jumped, feeling sheepish as he turned to the doorway. "Yes, baby?"

 

"Were you talking to Mama?"

 

"Uh, yes, I was." Jefferson cleared his throat and then shrugged. She'd caught him.

 

"Papa, Mama isn't here anymore, remember?" She told him carefully, little brow furrowed with concern.

 

Jefferson sighed and then dropped down to her eye level. "Yes, I know, my dear Grace. I'm sorry to confuse you. Sometimes, when Papa is especially sad or happy or _proud_ ," he thumbed her nose playfully, "I like to talk to her, to share what's happening. It keeps her here for me." He patted his chest and then offered a small grin. "I still love your mama and miss her very much. I like to keep her around... and the thought of her makes me feel better. She was always my conscience."

 

Grace swayed in front of him, chewing it over. "Can I talk to her?"

 

"Absolutely. She's your mama. You can do whatever you want, talk to her, sing to her, or just think about her. Whatever makes you happy."

 

"But when I'm alone."

 

Jefferson nodded. "Probably that's for the best. Make it just between you and her."

 

"Like a prayer."

 

"Exactly," he said and then stood back up. "Alright, time for bed. Got your teeth all brushed?"

 

Jefferson finished the hat the next morning and dropped it off at the sheriff's station on his way to pick up Grace from the bus. The Prince was surprised but grateful. He announced to Jefferson before he could scurry out that they planned on using fairy dust. Jefferson wished him the best of luck and hurried away. Completing that conciliatory gesture helped Jefferson to feel more at peace, his guilt assuaged to a small degree. However, that didn't mean he wanted to be around the Charming gang any longer than necessary. Things wouldn't stay amiable for long, not with Jefferson's track-record with them. 

 

The excitement settled into place for him and Grace after that. There were rumblings of problems, the Charming family having one dilemma after another, of poor Billy being murdered, but Jefferson kept Grace away from those things, kept her in their little happy bubble. She had friends over one weekend. They tore his house up with their sleepover games, but Jefferson didn't mind. It would give him something to do over Monday. Grace spent a great deal of her party showing off her past, all her toys from the Forest, he papa's hat collection, he mama's things that Jefferson had salvaged. She would have taken it a step further and led all her friends into the woods to play hide and seek but Jefferson drew the line there. The whispers of wolf time and murder made that a less than safe idea. That was when they wrecked his house playing hide and seek and chase. Jefferson hid in his studio and tried his darnedest to seriously read the parenting guide he'd picked up from Dr. Hopper that day. It was a challenge, what with the little girl, whom he was pretty sore was Gretel but couldn't quite remember, leaving cookie crumbs all over his rug and curtain. They'd baked sugar cookies and iced them to have with the thirty-five specialty teas Jefferson had bought for her party -- he'd admitted to going overboard but there was no real issue, he was disgustingly wealthy and it made Grace happy -- to start off the evening. This cookie had been iced green and blue and would assuredly turn his rug some combination of the two. When Grace found her, she scolded the older girl and then apologized to Jefferson. It made him laugh. So like her mother.

 

Later that week, Grace bounded off the school bus and announced that it was Suzy's birthday that weekend and she wanted to go to this girl's house for the party. As with all children's activities at this age in this world, it was an overnight event. Jefferson agreed to allow her as soon as he found out about the girl's parent's Forest identities. To his relief and disappointment, Rumpelstiltskin informed him in a hurried manner the next day that they were just peasants. Jefferson had no real reason to not let Grace go. And so that weekend, he spent his first full day and night alone since Grace had returned to him. He dreaded it and, as expected, at first he was at a loss for what to do, but things looked up after that. He had a couple drinks, watched television that wasn't a cartoon or about preteens, did some other things.

 

He didn't have near the problem falling asleep he had expected. Even better, he dreamt about Hope. It was a bright dream, full of color and sensation and for once not a memory, though it felt real enough. They were lying in their bed, tangled together listening to the night's music. Hope had his head on her chest, was feeding her fingers through his hair. He was tracing paisleys over her stomach, leaving their pattern in light, white swirls with his nail. She paused from humming quietly and tapped him between the shoulder blades.

 

"Don't forget to get more milk tomorrow. You need milk for that soup Grace likes. Did you see her stand up for that little boy today? She was very sweet and very brave."

 

"Mm. I saw." Jefferson nuzzled closer to her, breathed her in. She smelled like the day, crisp and full of leaves and spices. Like the day and their sweat.

 

"Stop mouthing at me, I'm talking to you." She flicked his ear, and then went back to stroking his hair. "I like this cut. We need to get Grace's trimmed. It's getting scraggly."

 

"I'll sharpen the scissors."

 

"You do that. And you need to let out the hem of her skirt. It's getting too short, growing like a weed as she is. How are her shoes fitting?"

 

"I'm going to the shop on Monday. They're going to start pinching soon."

 

"Good. Pick those up and I'll talk to somebody about her costume for the play. By the way, the Savior and her Mother returned today. You should go apologize, she gave us our Grace back."

 

"Yes, my love."

 

Hope hummed as his drawings reached around her navel. Then she pulled on his ear to get his attention. "I meant that. You need to apologize. Oh, and I almost forgot, I talked to Dr. Crane. He said we had a chance--"

 

Jefferson sat bolt upright as the alarm on his night stand buzzed angrily. It took him a few seconds to figure out where he was. That dream had felt so real, had seemed too normal, he had a hard time shaking it. Everything in it seemed plausible, except for the fact that his wife was long dead. The Savior part ate at him as he brushed his teeth and got dressed. It was so specific and so relevant amongst those other things his mind associated with ideal day-to-day topics. He tucked it away to muse over later, focusing instead on drawing up his grocery list for the trip to the store in town before he picked up Grace at three-thirty. After the morning gathering the herbs and such depleted from his stores in the past few weeks, Jefferson headed inside and changed, his head completely cleared of the dream.

 

List in hand and Grace's winter coat under his arm, since she'd forgotten it yesterday, he trotted into town. People still eyed him with suspicion, but he shared a few friendly head bobs on the way in, one person even smiled. The store was fairly busy, people out and about enjoying the Saturday afternoon by spending money. Jefferson slipped through the crowd, heading for his most familiar aisles. He needed peanut butter, milk, a fresh tin of breakfast tea. Those picked up, he meandered towards the deli for some stock bones so he could make winter soup that night. He was negotiating the fact that somehow he was actively both a deterrent and invisible to some of the other patrons when he stopped dead by the cheese case.

 

Not ten feet away was an unmistakable cascade of blonde curls. The kid chattering next to her confirmed it, that was Emma Swan pondering over ground turkey and beef. Jefferson couldn't believe it. They'd made it back somehow, and mysteriously he'd correctly predicted that through a flirtatious dream-Hope. He was floored, almost quite literally. Stumbling, Jefferson toppled over a Swiss cheese tower and scattered a cracker display. After cleaning up his mess, though, he got his act together. This was too perfect to be coincidental, he was going to take this beautiful opportunity the world had laid before him and finally make amends, resolve the remainder of his guilt.

 

Jefferson probably looked as mad as ever, rushing through the deli aisles, basket rattling on his arm, ecstatic grin locked in place. He had to rush, though. In the time he'd wasted destroying hors d'oeuvres end caps, Emma and Henry had selected their choice of ground meat and were strolling towards the checkout lines.

 

"You're back!" He blurted out far more loudly than his intention, skidding to a stop in between them and the cashiers' lines.

 

Henry smiled and waved but his mother was not so welcoming. At first, Emma looked purely startled, eyes wide and blinking. That didn't last long, though. Quickly, her jaw was set and she'd stepped in front of Henry with her chin tucked, glaring up under her brow at him. Jefferson realized the rashness of his approach and took a step back, held his hands up in front of them to ward off the murder in her glower.

 

  
"Whoa, whoa. Sorry about that. I'm not here to do anything crazy, promise. Just to apologize. And--and thank your boy."

 

Emma didn't respond, just looked harder at him even after Henry elbowed her.

 

"It's okay. He's a good guy, Emma."

 

She scoffed and pushed the boy back behind her again. "He's a mad man, kid, who…" Clearly the rest of that sentence was something Emma was struggling over. She looked like it tasted bad. "...who was right about the curse…" Bad taste gone but not forgotten, she stood up straighter and kept her eyes locked on Jefferson, free hand on her belt where he assumed she kept her gun. "I… I'll give you a pass on that: curse, real. But. Kidnapping? _Unacceptable_."

 

Jefferson winced at the word 'kidnapping.' "I know. I was a little…"

 

"Out of your freaking mind?"

 

"Yes. I have no excuse. I'm sorry."

 

"Mm-hmm…" Emma shifted their groceries from her arm back into her hand, relaxing some but still watching him like a hawk. "No worries, I guess. Now, the kid and I have tacos to make, so…" she jerked her head to the side, gesturing for Jefferson to stop cornering them against the olive bar.

 

He stepped aside immediately. "I'll make it up to you."

 

Emma didn't seem to here his muttered promise as she pushed through the shoppers in the fresh produce.

 

Jefferson watched and chewed his lip. That had not gone well. He was lost in thought when something tugged at his elbow.

 

"How's Grace?"

 

He looked down in surprise. Found the boy grinning up at him. "Oh, she's great. Hey, thanks, Henry. We owe you."

 

"My pleasure," Henry replied and bounced on his toes to catch Jefferson's upper sleeve. With him leaning over, he muttered conspiratorially in Jefferson's direction. "My mom's a little untrusting at first, but give her time and she'll come around."

 

"Good to know," Jefferson said, sounding humored but actually putting the knowledge to heart. The kid was right more often than not it seemed to him.

 

"Sure, I'd start with a cinnamon hot cocoa."

 

"Yeah, and I also like whiskey." Emma stepped around the two of them and grabbed Henry by the shoulder, pulling him back towards the checkout. "Although, that was not an invitation. Come on, kid."

 

Jefferson stayed put, catching the warning look Emma gave not to follow. He was pondering the length of time he would have to giver her before Emma came around as he shuffled over to the deli counter. Maybe not too long, that interaction wasn't so bad. She could have arrested him. It could have gone worse, he reflected as the butcher bagged some knuckle bones for him.

 

"If you really had your head cut off, how did you get it back on?" Emma was leaning back against the case considering him with narrowed eyes.

 

Apparently not very long at all.

 

Jefferson grinned down at her as he accepted the stew bones. He'd piqued her curiosity. Piqued it enough that she had dropped her guard some. In place of that wall of a frown was a little expectant smirk. He almost wanted to tease it into its full curve, but he also wanted to hold on to what attention he had just gained then by her whim.

 

"Oh, like you'd expect." He paused and her head cocked slightly to the side, waiting. "Following Wonderland logic, it just snapped into place when they starting sewing it back onto my body, though… an argument could be made that it never did get back on straight."

 

She gave him a the full smirk, dripping disbelief, and accompanied by a scoff and an eye roll. "That's a bad joke."

 

"I'm the Mad Hatter," Jefferson shrugged, "not the Joker. My skills are limited. Though in the past, the deluded antics were usually enough to earn a chortle here or there. Maybe I've lost that."

 

Emma gave a short, dark laugh and shook her head. "Well, that's appropriate because you seem… less nutty now."

 

He held her eye. "Getting exactly what you want can do that."

 

"You have Pa--Grace back?"

 

Jefferson nodded. "And everyone believes me when I say that I'm her father."

 

Her eyes were green. They held him where he was, demanded a longer response in their narrowed expectancy. Unsure with how further to explain, Jefferson glanced around him, became even more aware of their going audience. His bitterness at the treatment he received on the regular boiled over then and made Emma its unintended recipient. She was a convenient audience, only partially involved, but he suddenly needed to say it to her, for a touch of vindication.

 

"Turns out, all that wasn't just the ramblings of a madman. And ironically, that man over there, the one eyeing me like I'm liable to start chewing off his face, is acting more insane by not adjusting his behavior towards me than I ever did when I was 'Mad, Mad Milliner'. And he's not the only one."

 

The two of them shared a look after Mr. Fowler finally stopped gawking. Jefferson grinned away his exasperation to clear the resentment from his mouth. It was worth it, he decided, as Emma went on to notice the odd lack of people in a three foot radius of them, the guarded glances from those a safe distance away.   

 

"Yes, you were right. Seems sanity _is_ relative…" She looked him over once more and then clicked her tongue, jerking her head at Henry. "Well, I better go before he bankrupts me with candy bars." Her body language was somehow more relaxed then, as if she'd accepted his jab as a more conclusive sign that he was safe than anything else he could do. Emma understood resentment.

 

Jefferson saw a chance.

 

"And that drink?"

 

Emma grinned over her shoulder but kept walking. She didn't stop, turning around behind Henry and backpedaling out of the store as she responded. "Just not at the kidnap mansion, alright? Granny's tomorrow night?"

 

Jefferson nodded and then watched her strut off.

 

"Are you going to buy that or stare at the sheriff?"

 

He didn't mind the checker's snide question, passing over his card and grinning, eye on the little yellow bug. That went surprisingly well.

 

* * *

 

 

As well as the short encounter had ended up with Emma Swan, Jefferson found himself running it over and over in his head, each iteration feeding second thoughts. He'd gotten cocky when she'd suddenly shown interest, when his life's morbid attraction was too much to keep up her stubborn wall. That over-confidence had placed his foot squarely in his mouth. Not in the moment though. No, in the moment he'd been smooth and his old suave self, which of course he couldn't maintain over a longer than two minute period. No, it had been a slow-burn stuffing of his foot in his mouth because he would inevitably make a fool of himself while having that drink at Granny's.

 

Not only had it been over three decades since he'd sat and spoken one on one with a woman who wasn't Hope, but Jefferson had nothing to say to Ms. Swan beside the apology he'd just offered. He was going to be awkward, inept and uninteresting all at the same time. If the sheriff and his easy-going company had found him feckless, Swan with her no-nonsense, sharp eye was going to be very quickly put off by him.

 

Furthermore, and most importantly, Jefferson may have given the wrong impression. He'd been excited and eager for the chance at contrition, then flattered and puffed up by the fact that he'd cracked a hard nut. Eager and then preening seemed unmistakably like flirtatiousness. But flirting Jefferson had not been, not intentionally. He found Ms. Swan attractive, to be sure, with her wit and long, blonde hair, but he also found her daunting, blunt and assuredly closed off. And not Hope. He wasn't ready to move on, as long as it had been, and as much as he knew he should. But, in the end that may not have been a problem. Emma did, after all, think he was still at least a little insane. This was probably just a conciliatory drink, to show good faith and bury the hatchet. Jefferson hoped so. He couldn't handle the awkwardness of explaining misinterpreted signals on top of his own social incompetence and their already unorthodox manner of acquaintance certainly didn't need an additional snafu.

 

Grace sniffed out the anxiety swirling around Jefferson as soon as she grabbed his hand at the bus stop. "What's the matter, Papa? Did something happen at the grocery store?" She'd been there for a few of the times that his reputation had created a scene at the grocer's.

 

"No, sweetie, well nothing bad. I'm thinking something over."

 

"What did happen?"

 

"Oh, well, I ran into Henry and Ms. Swan and made my apologies…"

 

"Yes, and…?"

 

"Ha, yes, and… and it went fine. I'm meeting Ms. Swan at the diner tomorrow night, so I'll have to ask Ms. Holly if you can have a sleep over then."

 

"Like a date?"

 

Grace didn't sound upset but she wasn't smiling.

 

"No, not a date, my dear Grace. A… peace offering of sorts, a gesture of remorse and goodwill to show I'm trying to make up for what I did. Not a date."

 

"So, then why aren't you meeting Ms. Blanchard, too?"

 

"Well, I… I… I didn't talk to Ms. Blanchard, but, I can, though I think she'll be wanting to spend the evening at home with her husband."

 

"Maybe…"

 

Her face was turned away when Jefferson looked down to check.

 

"Don't worry, darling, I'm not going to treat anyone like I did your mama. Okay? No one's going to replace her and I'm not looking to share you with anyone. Hmm?"

 

She grinned when he smoothed her hair. "Okay, Papa, but I can share you if you want me to. I don't want you to be sad like Widow Markus."

 

"I'm not sad, baby. I have you." He squeezed her hand and then pointed to shoe store down the way. "Do you want to pick out a new pair of shoes? Yours are getting small pretty quickly."

 

He hadn't been untruthful with Grace. Jefferson did think that Ms. Blanchard would prefer the evening with the Prince, and he did not consider the meeting with Emma Swan to be a date, but nonetheless he didn't make a point to extend the invitation to Snow White. He also fretted over his appearance for nearly an hour the next evening before he dropped Grace off next door. She sat patiently on the bathroom counter, swinging her legs and giving him her opinion when asked.

 

"Papa, I think you're nervous," she commented as he retied his scarf for the third time. "If she already accepted your apology you have nothing to worry about."

 

"You're right, Grace, of course." Jefferson cinched the knot and then dropped his hands. "I have nothing to be nervous about. Thanks, baby." He kissed the top of her head and then helped her to the ground. "But it's all covered, all the way around?"

 

"Yes, Papa," Grace giggled as he turned around to show her his neck. "I can't see it at all, and your hair looks nice and your clothes do, too."

 

"Mmm, thank you, sweetie, I--"

 

Another giggle bubbled out when he caught himself and glanced down at her.

 

"I didn't ask, smarty, but thank you."

 

"That's fine, Papa. You were wondering."

 

"Was I?"

 

"Mm-hmm. You like Ms. Swan, don't you?"

 

Jefferson sighed and dropped to a squat in front of her. "As a possible friend, yes. Do you have your toothbrush packed?"

 

"Right here, same as earlier, Papa. And more, like a girlfriend. She's pretty like Mama and I like her clothes."

 

Grace looked at him with those big brown eyes like she could read his mind and waited for him to agree with her. Jefferson only chuckled. "She is a pretty woman, and smart, and confident, and I like her clothes, too, but I think she'd be a better friend than anything else. Don't you?"

 

"Aren't girlfriends and boyfriends friends, too? Isn't that why they're called girl _friends_?"

 

"Oh, we're stubborn this evening, aren't we?" Jefferson stood back up and guided Grace towards the stairs. "They are friends but a special type that requires more time and care and… commitment, and I don't want that now. I want to spend all that on you, okay?" 

 

"Okay, Papa."

 

Grace was obviously still unconvinced and much better versed in what 'liking' looked like than Jefferson had ever expected. She hugged him on the neighbor's front porch and managed to get the last word in on the topic, whispering that it was okay that he was scared about liking Ms. Swan, but that he shouldn't be. Then she'd kissed him on the cheek and gone traipsing off inside, leaving him flabbergasted and reconsidering his perspective on things. She was only a ten year old, but she was usually pretty perceptive and intuitive.

 

It didn't matter though, he decided on the outskirts of the main street, it was a moot exercise, wondering on whether he was interested in Emma Swan or not. She wasn't interested in him and he really didn't want to change what he'd just perfected with Grace in any way, not even if that meant nursing that last remaining wound in his soul.

 

Emma was already sitting at the bar when Jefferson slipped inside the diner. He wasn't late, she was finishing dinner. Alone. Jefferson knew that feeling. He sidled up to the bar and cautiously slid into her sights.

 

"Do you mind if I join you?"

 

She quirked an eyebrow and pointed at her plate. "Sure. As long as you don't mind watching me inhale the rest of this lasagna."

 

"No, not at all, and, uh, don't rush because of me." Jefferson slipped off his coat and hung it over the chair next to hers before sitting down.

 

"Hmm, thanks."

 

All seated, Jefferson studied his hands, fiddling with a straw wrapper until it was a twisted thread. He was pretty sure Emma was watching him from the corner of her eye.

 

"I don't mind being the only one eating, or eating alone, but I know it makes some people uncomfortable." She paused like expecting a response. Jefferson only shook his head slightly so she continued. "I've always suspected it's because they are uncomfortable with the idea of they themselves eating alone. But I don't know, I can't afford to share that qualm."

 

"I understand. My meals for the better part of three decades have been eaten alone."

 

"Mmm." She folded her napkin and set it aside, turning in her seat to look at Jefferson, elbow on the counter. "So, I looked you up today. You should know that."

 

"You did?"

 

Emma nodded, evidently happy with his reaction, and returned to her meal. "I did. There were quite a few records on you in the sheriff's database. Most of it I can see is Regina's hand in fabricating things just the way she wanted, but others were…were Graham's. You must have made a good impression on him. Or won him over. He was really lenient on you. I would have booked you faster for loitering and stalking, not given you free rides home."

 

"I wasn't stalking. I was spying."

 

Emma snorted. "So much better."

 

"It had a goal. And… we were friends, or I considered him a friend."

 

"I didn't see you at the memorial service."

 

"I wasn't fit to leave the house… or allowed. Um… the Queen didn't like me out and about."

 

"Yeah, she kept you on a short leash, didn't she? Schizophrenia is a harsh card in and of itself, much less when it's forced on you. Did she actually make you…ill, or was that just the reputation she gave you?"

 

Jefferson chuckled to himself. That was a much more complicated question than it sounded. "Depends on your perspective. But, uh, bottom line, it was to keep me in check and it did that, for the most part. Thank you, I'll have a whiskey, neat, whatever you have, Ruby, thanks."

 

Emma watched closely as he smiled at Red and her wink. "Apparently she wasn't always successful. Make that two, Ruby, please."

 

"Yeah, well, I slipped into town here and there, to spy, give the Sheriff something to actually police, but mostly I was stuck in that house."

 

"And she did that why, do you think?" Pushing away her empty plate, Emma turned to face Jefferson again. "Regina, I mean."

 

"She knew that I was awake and she wanted me up her sleeve in case she wanted to use my… skills--"

 

"Your hat, you mean, the portals. She had it the whole time and pretended she didn't know where she'd gotten it, by the way. Thanks."

 

Jefferson nodded and accepted his glass along with her. "Thanks. Yeah, I knew. Part of her control, but that was also punishment I'm pretty sure, part of her revenge. She, uh, she knew my past and no doubt thought keeping me a crazy shut-in would be the most painful fate."

 

"Because of the whole Mad Hatter thing?"

 

"Yeah. For one." Jefferson avoided any more on the topic by sipping his drink.

 

"Henry's book made it seem pretty bad. I can't imagine what it was actually like."

 

He was pretty sure that was Emma's way of saying she forgave him his desperate actions without actually saying so many words. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

 

"But, you got your daughter back, right? I didn't realize that her cursed self was adopted." The words came out heavy, fell even graver as she went on. "That was especially cruel, putting her right next door and making her still technically yours but out of reach. I'm... impressed at your resolve."

 

Emma was stirring her drink but not drinking it. Jefferson chose not to respond until she said what was distracting her.

 

"I would have taken her anyway, were I in your position. At least, knowing what I do now."

 

"Hmm, well, I was… cowardly and unstable."

 

"And I would have been selfish. I think you did the right thing, I was just saying… your endurance was commendable. It made you coo coo for coco puffs, but it was impressive."

 

Jefferson laughed weakly with her and then took refuge again behind his glass. They shared a few moments of sipping silence before Emma continued her subtle interrogation.

 

"You're not as big as you talk, are you?"

 

"God, no," Jefferson scoffed. "Not even close."

 

"But you are a good liar. A really good one, if unpracticed. I didn't even see it at first, your tell."

 

"I grin when I'm lying, I know. My wife caught that. And you were stressed that night. I wouldn't give me too much credit."

 

"Your wife? I… I didn't see that in your records. Where is she?"

 

"No, you wouldn't have. She's been gone for a while now."

 

"Oh, I'm sorry."

 

"Yeah, me too, thanks." Jefferson threw back the rest of his drink and waved to Ruby for another. "Care for seconds?"

 

"I won't turn it down." Emma echoed him, finishing off her glass before squaring herself to him again. "So, you were really alone all that time."

 

"Absolutely."

 

"Wow. What did you do to Regina?"

 

Jefferson took a long drink from his fresh whiskey before responding. "I helped Rumpel execute the trick that broke her heart permanently."

 

"What?"

 

He glanced at her wide eyes, raised brow. "What? Did my kidnapping, entrapment, battery trilogy not convince you? I'm not a good guy, Ms. Swan. Or, I haven't always been."

 

Emma tapped her nails against her glass and stared hard at him even as Jefferson dodged her gaze. "But you're… _trying_ to be one now?"

 

"Well, I'd like to think I had been since I met my wife, up until Regina stranded me in Wonderland. Things went downhill fast after that. And I'd tried here, but… well, I've already said I had no excuse, but circumstances weren't exactly working in my favor."

 

"You were pushed to the edge."

 

"I was."

 

"I think I'm starting to understand. I don't condone it, but I understand." She tipped her glass at Jefferson with a tight smile.

 

"Well, thanks. I'm glad I got the chance to apologize and explain. Not everyone does."

 

"Yeah, no kidding," Emma said under her breath, which Jefferson found curious but ignored.

 

"Uh, speaking of, is there any way you could pass this whole… extended apology along to your mother? I don't think your dad would really let me keep living if he found out what I did and I don't see myself finding a moment to apologize to her away from him."

 

Emma laughed, "sure thing. Yeah, it's probably best if he doesn’t find out just yet. David's really enjoying my job as sheriff. I don't think you'd ever get out of the holding cell."

 

"Thank you."

 

"Yeah, I will. She knows about your situation and, knowing her, has already forgiven you, but I'll pass it along. So… you're all alone with Grace?"

 

Jefferson nodded.

 

"And… how is that?"

 

"Uh, it's…" That caught him off guard. He hadn't expected to discuss his parenting techniques over drinks with the sheriff. "It's… something I cherish."

 

"Oh." Emma's face softened. She looked like a different person with the distrust and cynicism lifted from her eyes and mouth.

 

"I thought, when we first lost Grace's mother, that it would be too hard for me, that it would just be day after day of barely scraping by. I couldn't have been more wrong."

 

It was easier to talk to Emma about Grace. Jefferson even found himself smiling as he spoke.

 

"Grace is my life. She's a privilege, and even though it would be easier with her mother I wouldn't change anything, beyond that, from how things are now. I mean, _obviously,_ after all the psychotic shit I did to get her back," he chuckled to dull the tension that mention brought.

 

"That's… that's really… I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. You really love being her dad, don't you?"

 

"Greatest thing I've ever done."

 

"I misjudged you, Jefferson." Emma's eyes darted away when Jefferson looked up at her. Instead she spread another tight smile and raised her glass. "To the privilege of parenthood."

 

Their glasses clinked lightly and Emma stared at the counter as she continued. "It's not ever what you expect, is it? Not even the lack thereof."

 

"No. It isn't." Jefferson carefully chose his next words. "Are you changing your mind about your son?"

 

She drained her glass before responding. "I didn't think I wanted to be a part of his life, but since I came here it's become pretty clear that I was wrong. He's… something else."

 

"He seems like a good kid."

 

"He is, and he likes having me around, which is… crazy."

 

Jefferson scoffed and Emma frowned at him.

 

"Sorry, I haven't quite gotten my head around the colloquial use of 'crazy.' Do you mean to say that you find it hard to believe that your son likes having you in his life?"

 

Emma dropped her brow and studied him. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

 

Jefferson scoffed again. "Then, my response stands."

 

"You find that funny?"

 

"I do. What child wouldn't want the opportunity to have every person who could love them around them, much less their birth mother, and one who was so confident, and level-headed, and reliable? I know my Grace would jump at the opportunity. I would have as a child. Wouldn't you?"

 

Emma opened her mouth and then promptly shut it again, staring at Jefferson like he had grown a second head or something.

 

"I know, I know, getting parenting insights from the local lunatic is startling."

 

"Yeah, yeah. I really misjudged you, or you've gotten way better since the curse was broken." She waved her hand at Jefferson in resignation and then took his drink from him, finishing it off as well.

 

"So, where is Henry tonight?"

 

"With Regina, of course. We're working out an arrangement. It's… hard."

 

"I would imagine."

 

"Yeah. I don't want to fight her for custody. She's raised Henry his whole life so far and even though he doesn't always say it, she's his mother, too." That divot between her brows returned. Her glass was getting the brunt of her agitated tapping. "But… but I'm finding it hard letting her have him. She's… I don't trust her. Not completely"

 

"I don't blame you. I heard she was reformed but found that hard to believe."

 

Emma shrugged and held her glass out to Ruby, who filled it up. "She actually does seem better. I don't trust easily, though, and with her track record I'm having a difficult time getting all the way there when it's my son in the balance." She looked up suddenly. "What would you do?"

 

Jefferson sat back blinking. Was she asking his opinion about her son? "Uh… well, I don't know if I'm the best to ask. My… my track record, as you say, isn't anything to boast about, and I hate her."

 

"Say it was someone else you have a mixed relationship with, say it was… I don't know, Gold."

 

"And he had partial custody over Grace?"

 

Emma nodded.

 

"Honestly?" Jefferson chewed on his lip and then leaned right up to her ear. "I'd kill him," he whispered, sitting back and continuing at normal volume and with more glibness. "But I'm a psychopath and Grace has been my light and air since she was born. Different circumstances. My morals are shaky when it comes to her."

 

"I think I'm starting to get that, I mean myself, to feel that way."

 

"Makes sense, he's your son. Doesn't matter how long you were apart."

 

"I thought so, too. Glad to hear I'm not alone." She finished her third whiskey as a shot and then ran her hands over her face and through her hair. "It's been making me crazy."

 

Her eyes widened and she flailed briefly, cheeks reddening. "I--I--no, I meant--"

 

"It's fine, Emma. I completely understand that use. Can empathize."

 

As the tension from that moment diffused, it became clear that it was time for Jefferson to leave. Emma had drank quite a bit in a very short period of time and was beginning to show it. She'd been embarrassed about possibly offending him and her eyes were a little over-dilated. Jefferson turned down Ruby's offer for a top off and handed her his card.

 

"Well, I feel like I've fairly effectively overstayed my welcome and really dampened your mood--"

 

"It was already pretty damp."

 

"--so, I'm going to head back to my house. Is… is the air clear between us? Have I at least apologized effectively?"

 

Emma smirked and then nodded. "Yes. Apologies accepted. And thanks for the sounding-board moment just then. It's nice to have someone who understands to talk to. Single parent to single parent."

 

"You're more than welcome. I'm glad I can help anyone. It's about time. Uh… I'm walking back, would you like me to walk with you first?"

 

"Actually, yes. Thanks. The last thing I need is to keel over and wake up in the middle of a crowd of judgmental storybook characters with my son's custody on the line. Also, I'm the sheriff so that would be especially inappropriate." She still sounded completely in control but was a little shaky on her feet. When she stood as Jefferson signed the bill and pulled on his coat there was nearly a spill.

 

"Whoa, you okay?"

 

"I haven't slept much since we came back. That on top of the alcohol makes for spaghetti legs, but don't worry, I'm fine. You won't have to carry me."

 

"This is funny," she said several minutes later as they made it down the street. "When I first met you, I was helping you get home and now you're helping me get home."

 

"You're a lighter weight than I expected," Jefferson responded, "if you genuinely think that's funny."

 

"Oh, it's funny, and you're completely different from what I thought."

 

"You keep saying that, I hope that it's a positive adjustment to your opinion of me."

 

"It is. Don't worry. Though, you lied."

 

"I haven't lied once this night."

 

"Oh, you don't know that you did, that's the thing."

 

"Okay. Then what is it I lied about?"

 

She leaned hard into him and nodded her head towards a nearby door. "That's my stop. Do you want to come up?"

 

"Oh. Oh, no, thank you, Emma. I--I--that's not why I met you tonight. I--"

 

Emma stood up straight as Jefferson flailed, flashed a smug smile at him. "As I thought." Her intoxication had apparently evaporated.

 

"What!?"

 

"You lied earlier."

 

"What?"

 

"You are a good guy, Jefferson. Just proved it." She allowed that announcement to sink in, a smile in her eyes. Before the confusion cleared she reached for the door. "Alright, 'night. Thanks for the drinks."

  
 Jefferson stood by the window of the darkened shop beside the now empty private entrance to Emma and Snow White's apartment. What had just happened? It almost seemed like Emma had tested him and he'd passed. He'd made amends, but could he have just made friends with another sheriff?

 

It kind of seemed like he had. But just friends.


	8. Creature Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is imperfect, Jefferson learns, even when he's gotten what he's wanted most for decades. Unlike before, however, he can find ways to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mad Swan fans, this is it, your pay out.

"Papa! Papa! Come see, quick!"

 

Things had been unquestionably fucked in Storybrooke since Emma and Snow White's return. He hadn't known it at the time, but the circumstances of their trip back and the repercussions of their time in the Forest were going to be the cause of nightmares for Jefferson for weeks to come. Rumors of the Queen of Hearts, Regina's mother, Cora coming to the town had begun circulating almost immediately, seemed confirmed when a known henchman, the pirate, appeared at the town line and caused a stir. After watching the fuss that followed, Emma Swan leave town then arrive back with a stranger, and then learning from Red that that stranger was Henry's father and Rumpelstiltskin's son, Jefferson had decided that the town scene and all its drama was just not his cup of tea. It was all too much for him, especially with how happy he was leading a quiet little life with Grace. He relaxed some when the rumor mill finally churned out to him that Cora was dead, but he was still wary and avoided leaving his house whenever he could. He'd even started homeschooling Grace.

 

So, he was understandably on high alert when he heard the tone of alarm from his daughter. Her shouting from the front window could mean nothing good. And he was right.

 

"Papa, what's happening?"

 

That was a very good question. One that Jefferson couldn't answer. He only knew that they had to get away from it. "I don't know, Grace, but it doesn't look good. Come on," he grabbed her hand and darted down the stairs, "we got to get away from here. It isn't safe."

 

Grace trailed behind him without question, moving as fast as her little legs could take her as the two of them bolted for the woods. Jefferson didn't feel safe in the town as it was, he definitely was not going to take refuge in it as it was being swallowed by greenery. For all their life, the woods had been their haven and hideaway, so that's where they were going to take sanctuary, even if it seemed to be the thing attacking the town.

 

"Papa, I'm scared."  
 

"I know, Grace, but it's going to be okay. We're just going to hide in the woods, like we always have. They'll protect us. It'd be silly for the woods to attack the woods, right?"

 

They stopped running about twenty meters past the tree line. Grace was whimpering and shaking, so Jefferson knelt down and put his arms around her, the two of them huddling together against yet another magical emergency.

 

"Shh, shh. We're going to be okay, we'll be fine." Jefferson winced as a pine tree pushed its way out of their chimney. "It'll all be fine. We don't need that house, or this place. We can live in the forest like we always have. Don't be frightened, baby."

 

Jefferson said these things, soothed and calmed his daughter with a quiet voice and steady hand, but inside he was much less placid. Inside he was panicking. This was magic, the same kind that created this town out of nothing. If it could do that, when it was reversed it was going to take not only the town but the people it brought there. Jefferson didn't want to think what it would do with them.

 

"I'm here, Grace, sweetie. I'm here. You're safe. Shh. We're okay."

 

As the vines covered the exterior of their house, as bushes and shrubs broke through his neighbors' windows and hid away their doors, Jefferson held his Grace as close to him as he could. They may have been about to be obliterated or vanished to some empty void but at least he had her with him in the end. He wasn't going to let her go.

 

'Well, Hope,' he thought, eyes locked shut, lips to Grace's crown, 'this may be it. Keep an eye out for us.'

 

Jefferson drew one more breath and held it, saving the smell of pine and his daughter's hair as the ground began rumbling, as the world prepared to vanish them.

 

'I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon.'

 

Suddenly, his prayer lost its poignancy. Those words were not his literal last thoughts. Unless his scar could still itch in a void.

 

Jefferson exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. The quaking had stopped, the groaning quieted. Looking around, sure enough, everything was still. The woods chirped and breathed around them as if nothing had happened. Their house stood, unblemished in front of them, now clearly separated from its wild backyard.

 

"Is it… is it over?" Grace asked in a tiny voice. She still had tears in her eyes.

 

Jefferson was shaken pretty badly as well. It took him a moment to gather himself to respond. "I think so."

 

"What happened?"

 

"I don't know. Let's… let's go see." With her hand still in his, he led Grace back out of the woods, taking careful steps and staring in any direction a noise or movement came from. Stepping back onto their street, he mumbled under his breath, "I hate this place."

 

And he meant it. It was a seriously fucked up town in a sad, grimy world. And he had been wrong. It didn't need magic. Jefferson was tired of magic. He and Grace could live the rest of their life together without magic and be all the happier for it. Magic could fuck right off.

 

Of course, walking into town did nothing to answer Jefferson's many questions, or Grace's. Everyone else was just as confused and shaken as they were. Milling around them only achieved one thing, it reminded Jefferson that he wasn't alone in all this. The townsfolk were alternatively crying or fuming, sick of all the shit that kept happening to them and although some of them were clearly relieved, there was a definite unease in the air. He heard mutters here and there of giant's beans and strange visitors, but no one knew with any certainty what had caused the forest to try to retake the town, if that was even what had happened. One dwarf -- Jefferson wasn't sure which -- had the most disturbing theory that it was Regina's reset button for the curse, that it would have obliterated the town, but that was neither confirmed nor denied. Coming up empty-handed with shock blankets and a cup of hot cocoa, Jefferson led Grace home just as clueless as they'd been two hours before. It wasn't a completely pointless trip, however. It had changed his mind about town. If he wanted to stay safe there and keep Grace safe, he would have to be involved and keep up to date on what was happening. Clearly, hiding them away in their house wasn't doing them any favors beyond setting them up for a heart-racing surprise.

 

So, ever cautious and with eyes wide open, Jefferson began taking Grace back to school again, began spending the days in town, resuming his old duties. And he kept an eye out for Emma Swan. He wanted to know what had happened and he figured she would be the best one to ask. He learned, though, several days in that that option was no longer available.

 

"She sailed away on a pirate ship?"

 

Ruby nodded and handed him the change for his sandwich. "A pirate ship, with Captain Hook, Gold and her mom and dad. They were going to get Henry back."

 

"Get Henry back?"

 

"Yeah. Those strangers kidnapped him through a magic bean portal after torturing Regina and killing Neal."

 

"Neal?"

 

"Henry's father…" Ruby reminded him patiently. "You remember. He was here getting to know his son."

 

"Right. Baelfire."

  
  
"Right. So, they're gone. I think they had a magic bean, too."

 

"Wait." Jefferson set down his sandwich and slipped onto a barstool. "Help me. Magic beans? When did that happen?"

 

"Oh, it was a thing." She shrugged and kept wiping down the counter absent-mindedly. "But it's over now."

 

"There were magic beans and no one used any to get home?"

 

"Well, I'm pretty sure that was the plan, but it was kind of ruined. I still don't know for sure how that worked out."

 

He scoffed, "yeah, that's how it is here. Shit happens and no one thinks to explain it to the rest of us. We just have to manage to survive by our wits and good luck."

 

Ruby clicked her tongue and then leaned onto the bar. "Hey, we're having a town meeting tonight. Every other Thursday night, actually. You should stop by. That way at least you'll know what the rest of us know. I'll bring you a cup of tea."

 

"Oh. Yeah, thanks. I'll do that."

 

"Sure thing. See you there." Ruby patted his hand as she stood back up, flashing him a smile before she walked down the bar to help another customer.

 

Jefferson took his bagged lunch and quickly hurried out of the diner, only stumbling into one chair on his way to the exit. He was in town every Thursday night after that, had his free cinnamon tea from Ruby waiting for him, and stood uncomfortably in the back of the hall as the news of their strange hamlet was relayed, its issues argued over. He also made an effort to be more involved and sociable when he stayed in town during the days. It kept him informed and made sure he wasn't left in the lurch again when shit hit the fan, as it was sure to do. There was a gymnasium near the hospital, he could go there when things weren't working out for him with people and expend pent up energy or stress and still be around to hear things. He didn't exactly make friends but his constant presence without incident made people less wary about him and in time they sort of began to accept that he was going to be there. Most of them ignored him, which suited Jefferson fine, but some gave him the time of day, Ruby, a few of the dwarves, the Cricket. Dr. Hopper actually seemed intrigued by Jefferson and would talk with him whenever he came across him.

 

Overall, Jefferson was integrating smoothly into the townsfolk and they began to include him in things outside of the obligatory. Grace helped with that. She was most of the reason he was invited to anything to begin with. Everyone loved Grace, and how couldn't they? But several occasions Jefferson merited inclusion on his own and that was encouraging for him, though he was uncomfortable through the length of each event. It wasn't usual then that, when the Captain's ship reappeared in the harbor and news spread that the Charmings had returned to town, Marco strolled up to the bench where Jefferson was sitting, watching Grace play on the new castle, and invited him to join the crowd at Granny's that night. Marco had developed a friendly rapport with Jefferson when Grace had become quite taken with Pinocchio. They'd spent a few afternoons quietly discussing things at that park.

 

"You should come. I'm sure they will appreciate every guest who welcomes them home. And you belong as well."

 

"Thanks, Marco. I'll be sure to make an appearance." Jefferson smiled his appreciation and then chuckled as he watched Grace pair the little group of kids up, keeping Pinocchio for herself for tag. "I'll find a sleepover for Grace to join."

 

"Mother Hubbard is having a group of them at her house. That is where Pinocchio will be."

 

"Oh. That's nice… boys and girls… altogether?"

 

Marco laughed lightly and shrugged. "They are young. What's the harm?"

 

"I guess. I'll call over and ask if there's room for her."

 

"Mrs. Hubbard always has room. I'm sure your Grace will be welcomed."

 

Jefferson and Marco continued chatting as their children played. It was easy for Jefferson to talk with the man, he was very patient and very mild, not to mention understanding. He was one of the few that didn't question Jefferson's past or ask anything with judgment. They kept on until a peal of thunder ruined the fun. It was too bad, too. Grace and Pinocchio were just two worn out eight year olds away from being tag champions for the fourth time that week.

 

Grace was excited to go over to Mother Hubbard's dozen-child sleepover party. She ran a play center and lived above it with her many grandchildren so it was sure to be an action-packed night for Grace. Jefferson left her there a little before dinner with a hug and a kiss and told her he'd be back the next day at noon, and that she should be good. To that day, leaving Grace at another person's house made him jittery and nervous, but he reminded himself he was going to the diner, not another world. He really would pick her up the next day at noon, all promises kept.

 

Granny's diner was already packed when Jefferson stole inside. No one noticed him as he slipped amongst the many attendees all eating and drinking and chatting and he was able to find a table in the corner without incident. The Charmings and co. weren't there yet so everyone was focused on their food and small conversation. Within a few minutes, though, Jefferson's quiet people-watching was interrupted.

 

"I didn't see you come in." Ruby strutted out from behind the bar and sat down across from him. "Glad you did, though, and impressed. This isn't really your scene."

 

"No, it is a little crowded, but I wanted do my part in welcoming and whatnot. I kind of need to be on my best behavior with the whole family, might as well make a good, if brief, impression by showing up for their party."

 

"Best behavior, huh? Sounds fascinating. Wish I could stick around and find out, but Granny's giving me the stink eye. Come to the bar and grab a drink in a bit, yeah? I want to hear all about it."

 

Jefferson grinned at his hands and then watched Ruby walk away. She was so nice to him. She was nice to everyone, mostly, but still, he appreciated it. The party kicked up when Ms. Swan and her family showed up, surprisingly with Regina in tow, the pirate and Rumpelstiltskin. The biggest surprise though, was Neal. Jefferson had heard he was dead. That bit of gossip must have been mistaken or something unbelievable had happened while they were away. He was happy for Ms. Swan and Henry, though, jealous he couldn't experience something similar. A bit of lasagna, and a few drinks provided by Ruby later, Jefferson was considering going. The party was dying down and someone would be able to notice him soon. Besides, his best entertainment had left when Marco called it a night and Dr. Hopper followed.

 

He was just saying goodnight to Ruby and respectfully thanking Granny when he noticed Emma sitting in a booth by herself. She looked like something was bothering her. With the Prince and Snow White off elsewhere socializing, Jefferson decided he could risk just a short chat, to make sure she was okay. Scanning to make sure he wasn't throwing a wrench in anyone else's plans to comfort her, he caught up his coat and quickly slipped through the remaining party-goers and into the booth.

 

Emma looked up with a quiet gasp and managed to look even more startled when she realized who he was. Jefferson shrugged at her questioning stare.

 

"I've started trying to stay involved in town since it was almost eaten by the forest. It's worth it because I avoid unpleasant surprises, like a tree in my living room or a wraith overturning my car on me, even as uncomfortable as these social events are. Besides, it gives me a chance to try to find out what happened, though no one could explain. I bet you can."

 

Despite her narrowed eyes, Emma's glare didn't have the same punch as usual. Jefferson's glib approach wasn't working.

 

He changed course. Direct was better, maybe. "Before you do, though, what's wrong? Is it Henry?"

 

He looked around to where the boy was notably absent, as was his adopted mother. Emma exhaled deeply and continued staring at him, now more contemplative than surprised.

 

"How'd you know? Mind-reading a thing you picked up with your shiny new social skills?"

 

"No," Jefferson scoffed, leaning back in his seat. "No, I am a parent though and I know how that look on your face feels, and I've seen it before. Hope used to have that same expression when she fretted over Grace."

 

"Your wife's name was Hope?"

 

"It was. So… where's Henry's father? Neal, right?"

 

"Yeah…" Emma grimaced and looked down. "He's here. Somewhere, I just talked to him. I'm meeting him for lunch tomorrow, or I might… I haven't decided."

 

"Okay… then what's going on with Henry?" Jefferson tapped the table, ticking off possible problems to do with the boy.  "He's got… two mothers, his dad's back, got grandparents, three out of four, two admittedly the same age as his parents… but they were all just getting along here… I'll give it to you that it's a little unorthodox, but that's a full house plus with almost nothing to complain about. So..."

 

He studied her face, her pinched, pained face. This was no trifling bother. "It must be something with Henry himself," he offered quietly. "What's wrong?"

 

"I don't know. He's off somehow."

 

They stopped talking as a couple dwarves tottered past with an ex-nun. Emma shook her head but then met Jefferson's eye.

 

"He… didn't want his storybook. He's always loved his storybook."

 

"Yeah, it was basically another appendage for him, wasn't it? But… kids change, too quickly it seems sometimes. Did something happen while you were gone? The littlest things will affect Grace."

 

"Yeah… I don't know. It was sort of a big trip. And... he _wanted_ to stay with Regina." She dropped her eyes again and sighed, began putting up her guards.

 

It was time for Jefferson to leave. She was finished talking about it, and he could wait for another time to get an explanation about things. He climbed out of the booth and picked up his coat.

 

"Alright, well, good luck with Henry. I'm sure he'll be fine like Grace always is. Let me know if you want a friendly ear sometime. I'm around."

 

"Jefferson?"

 

He stopped and turned to look back down at her, waiting.

 

"Where's Grace?"

 

"At Mother Hubbard's, big sleepover night," he answered, head tilted to the side at the strange question.

 

Emma nodded and then stood up as well, looking to the door. "Can we talk outside for a moment?"

 

Jefferson nodded.

 

"Okay. I'll meet you out there."

 

He considered the unreadable expression on Emma's face for a moment before nodding again and heading for the door. She snuck out a few minutes later and found Jefferson waiting on the hood of his car. Her face was still unreadable, but a different brand of strange expression now.

 

"What's up, Emma?" He ventured when she didn't say anything.

 

"Jefferson, this is going to sound crazy."

 

"Try me."

 

Emma laughed humorlessly at his dry response and squared her shoulders. "Alright, well, you're--we're… we are on good terms, right? But I'd hardly say we were close friends… so, I think you can help me with this."

 

"Whoa..." Jefferson held up his hands and hopped to the ground to back away. "I don't like where you're going with this. You're tone's all… something, and… I'm done with the kidnapping business, sorry."

 

Emma's laugh was very pleasant, her real laugh, big without being raucous, and from the center, warm. "No. It's nothing like that. I want to _not_ think about… everything I can't do anything about tonight." She met his eye and held it, sucking on her lips. "You get me?"

 

Jefferson quirked his brow, still unsure what she wanted. "I've still got my tea."

 

"You think you're funny," she scoffed. "No, something besides tea."

 

She was suddenly much closer than before, much more present without even having moved. Jefferson understood. He understood and was entirely confused. "And you think I'm the one to help you with that?"

 

"You seemed like a bit of a sexual deviant with the kidnapping and the bondage and everything…" She was on the defensive now, tone pitched up and eyes wide. He'd surprised her again. "I dunno. I'm kind of winging it here."

 

Jefferson crossed his arms and steeled himself for the next reaction, looking her dead in the eyes. "I can't. Sorry."

 

"What?"

 

"Sorry, Emma. I… I'm not emotionally in a place where I can be your one night stand. Sorry. I… I haven't been with anyone since my Hope, and I'm not looking for that."

 

Emma, her eyes still wide but now scrunching some with disbelief, gave a weak laugh. "For all this time? You've been completely alone?"

 

"Completely."

 

"Not one--nothing?"

 

"For thirty-five years, yes."

 

Her mouth dropped open.

 

"I was grieving! Then I had Grace, then I went mad in Wonderland, then I was… unfit here with two lives in my head. Then, when I wasn't… _as_ unstable, here I was mourning Hope again, talking to her to get through the day without becoming unstable again, and obsessing over Grace. Now… now I've found Grace and I spend my time with her and most everyone thinks I'm a psychopath, or pitifully strange, at best." Jefferson huffed weakly and gazed determinedly at his feet.

 

"Wait. You were talking to Hope when you weren't mad?" Emma looked skeptical, like she had started second-guessing her proposition.

 

"Old habit. I miss her. I--I know she can't hear me, but it helps to feel like I'm not alone."

 

Jefferson chewed his lip as she scuffed her boot in the gravel. He honestly didn't know where this was going to go. Emma was impossible to read.

 

"I don't mean to be crass, Jefferson," she finally said, glancing up under her brow, "but… I think you might need this more than I do, like a palate cleanser or a distraction. It'll help you get… out of that epic rut."

 

That was not the direction he figured she would take. He'd really begun to think she was going to bow out gracefully. "Uh…"

 

"Listen, it doesn't mean anything. It's just for the… act. We're friendly but there's nothing there, so it can work. You in?"

 

Jefferson clicked his teeth. "Uh… yeah, I guess. Maybe you're right, but… I can't guarantee anything… _anything_. It's been thirty-five years."

 

"That's fine," Emma waved as if it really weren't a concern. "I just need a bottle of scotch. You're driving."

 

* * *

 

 

Completely unpredictable. That's what Emma Swan was. She threw him another curve ball when she insisted they go to his house. It made sense, when she explained, because her parents were at hers, but she'd last called it the 'kidnap mansion' and he didn't think that would be the place she'd want to go to forget about things.

 

Her directness was also something he couldn't get used to. That wasn't an unusual aspect of her personality, but the thing they were about to do didn't seem like one that would be so openly discussed. It seemed like something they should do in secret, with the lights off and as little talk about it as possible. That was not how Emma Swan operated.

 

She knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it, and she had no qualms making that happen however she could. This all became very clear while Jefferson was fumbling around nervously at his sideboard.

 

"Okay," Emma announced firmly. That made Jefferson look up. "Here's the deal. My rules are pretty simple. I'm okay with kissing, but stay away from my ears. I'm not going to take my bra off and if I say 'no' or 'stop' you had better back off immediately. You hear me?"

 

He nodded in silence.

 

"Good. I want the lights on, in your bedroom, or a spare bed if you don't want to do there, but no couches or floors or walls or showers, okay? A bed. I don't want any marks to explain away tomorrow, that includes hickies. If you leave them, make sure they're below the collarbone. Everywhere else is fine. I'm pretty vocal, I hope you're fine with that, and I have some scars I'm not proud of so be ready and try not to gawk."

 

She was already bent over, peeling off her boots, eyes still locked on his. Boots discarded, she stood back up and put her hands on her hips.

 

"I think that's it. I'll tell you if I think of anything else. What about you? Anything I should avoid? Safe word?"

 

Jefferson pulled at his scarf. The scar was itching. "Well, you already have seen my big… embarrassing… yeah. Uh, besides that… I don't know. I might call you Hope?"

 

Emma shrugged. "Doesn't bother me. I prefer mine on the rocks." She took the bottle of scotch from him and then headed towards the stairs. "Which room is it?"

 

"East corner." Jefferson pointed up and to his right. "Big four-poster, you can't miss it. I'll get the ice."

 

She looked him over and then nodded, heading up the stairs without another word. It took him a few seconds, but Jefferson made it to the kitchen eventually and filled up his liquor pail with ice, grabbing a few glasses and some water as well.

 

"Where are your condoms?" She shouted down as Jefferson climbed the stairs.

 

"Uh… I don't have any."

 

"That's fine. I keep some with me. Let's hope ribbed isn't a problem."

 

"No…"

 

Condoms weren't the thing on his mind though when Jefferson stepped into his bedroom. The naked woman was. Emma had already stripped down to just her skin and a little lacy black bra.

 

"I don't like to waste time." She took the bucket of ice from him and quirked her brow. "You're staring. I told you not to gawk."

 

"That would be because you're naked."

 

"That's kind of part of this whole thing. If you can't handle that then we've made a mistake."

 

"I haven't seen a naked woman in a very long time. It takes a moment." He felt very flushed. His head was swimming, but for once not in an unpleasant way.

 

Emma smirked a little and squared herself to him, staring right back. "I can deal with that. And really? Not even looked at… nothing?"

 

"Nothing," Jefferson swallowed with some difficulty and then finally stepped completely into the room.

 

"Wow. You're like a monk or something. Priests can't even do that."

 

He felt like he should look away, stop staring, but she was so very naked and so very much a woman. Different from Hope, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind, but lovely all the same. She was longer, leaner, less curves but remarkable in her own right. He wished she would remove her bra, but put that aside immediately. That was one of her things she was very upfront and direct about. It was not coming off. Eventually he spotted the scars she'd mentioned, little white lines spaced perfectly evenly down the inside of her thighs. He looked away as soon as he saw them and cleared his throat.

 

"Okay. You've had your moment to adjust. Off with your clothes."

 

  
Jefferson whipped back to look at her, checking to see if she'd meant the play on words. She hadn't. Her mouth was snapped tightly shut and her eyes wide.

 

"I didn't mean that. It's a common… turn of phrase." Emma winced in a small way. "Uh, I'm sorry. That's probably a trigger of yours. Wow, Emma." She buried her rubbed her nose with apologetic apathy.

 

In the awkwardness of the moment the only thing that Jefferson thought of was that he wasn't the one to make the first feux pas. He snorted and set aside the bucket, glasses and water.

 

"Off with your clothes. That's funny."

 

"You're laughing."

 

"No. I'm not _that_ fragile, Emma." He kicked off his boots and began unbuttoning his vest. "Off with your clothes. That's perfect."

 

Emma edged around him, eyes cutting carefully as she poured herself a glass, then him. "You have a strange sense of humor."

 

Vest and scarf off, the shirt was next. "I have to. Too much irony in my life not to." He looked away as he set aside his shirt, allowing Emma to investigate as she'd allowed him. Moved onto the belt and pants, toeing off his socks as well.

 

Completely stripped bare, he stood there and looked at his curtains, twitching his fingers at being so exposed.

 

Emma merely said, "yep." She was still inspecting him when he glanced over to assess that 'yep'. Her face was almost discernible as content. That wasn't certain, though.

 

"Turn," she instructed, and Jefferson frowned. "Please," she added and he did so.

 

"Uh… so? Acceptable?" He asked all awkwardness intended and intensely felt.

 

"Oh, absolutely. I feel you have to take a second to see what you're working with, don't you?"

 

"Uh…"

 

"You say that a lot."

 

"I'm speechless a lot."

 

Emma handed him his glass with a coy grin. "I'll take that as a compliment."

 

"It is." Jefferson sipped meditatively but then took a bigger swig as he watched Emma down her whole glass. He did the same when she waved for him to and then asked, coughing, "nervous?"

 

"Me? No, but you need to loosen up. I figured I'd match you. Cheers." She tapped her second glass against his and tossed that one back as well. "Mmm. That is a smooth scotch."

 

"Burns in just the right way," Jefferson agreed, shaking his head and setting aside his glass. "But that's enough for me for now."

 

"Alright," she grinned with just her eyes and reached for a little foil square on the bed. "Kiss me while I put this on you."

 

Jefferson hesitated, but she didn't, ripping open the condom packet immediately and then looking at him until he stepped forward.

 

"Just… kiss you?"

 

"Yeah. Kiss me like you want to. I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

 

He looked at her, weighing how serious she was, how he wanted to kiss her, how she might want to be kissed. He decided on an old classic. Pushed her hair back from her face, left one hand cupping her cheek, twisted the other tight in her hair and then lifted her mouth to his. Her lips were new, but his approach had never failed him, starting soft, parting them easily, tasting, teething, teasing then sweeping deep. He stopped and pulled away when he noticed she wasn't holding up her end of the arrangement. The condom was still pinched between her fingers.

 

" _That_ was not what I expected," she said, gazing at his mouth.

 

"Oh, sorry," Jefferson stepped away quickly, released her hair and folded his hands.

 

"No. Don't be. I… do that again."

 

When Jefferson didn't move quickly enough she closed the distance between them and tilted her face up to him. She wasn't caught off guard for long, proved herself very much the one with all the surprises again soon enough. It wasn't until he was sinking into the kiss before Emma rolled the condom on and made him gasp. She was quick and that was for the best. Even knowing it was bound to happen, the contact took him by surprise, made him jerk.

 

With her hands free Emma reached up to fold around him, raking her nails through his hair and down his neck. The kiss lasted until Jefferson's ears were burning, but then she pulled him towards her. When he opened his eyes to keep from falling and the whole thing came crashing down. He'd gotten lost in the sensation, had forgotten who he was kissing. Unsettled, Jefferson moved down to her neck and shoulders as she turned them around, backed him towards the bed.

 

She was on top of him in an instant, looking for another of those kisses. He assented, wrapping himself in her hair and blocking out the rest.

 

Being touched again was electrifying. If he kept his eyes closed, Jefferson felt incredible. Opening them and remembering this wasn't his wife was difficult to deal with though. So he kept his mouth occupied, stayed away from Emma's face, kept to where he wouldn't see green instead of brown. Breaking another hard kiss, he pulled her hips up to his chest, since she insisted on staying on top of him, and then higher. She let him for a second, drew a shuddering breath as he kissed between her legs, but then wiggled away.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"Uh… getting things ready?"

 

"That's considerate but unnecessary. Foreplay's great but I'm here for the main event."

 

Jefferson blinked up at her. "You don't… was it ba--should I not have--"

 

"Oh. No. That's nice, sure. Most women like it best, but I… prefer penetration." She said casually, with a shrug of her lips.

 

Jefferson struggled to see straight as she scooted down his stomach again. He felt like his skin was boiling as perched over him, forgot his nerves as she pushed her hair off her shoulders. He hadn't imagined she would want him only in that way, it was an intoxicating thought.

 

"You good with that?"

 

"Yes… I can do that."

 

"Good. Scoot backwards, would you. I might want to use the headboard."

 

Emma certainly knew what she was doing and she certainly enjoyed doing it. All things considered, Jefferson should have been having a mind-blowingly excellent time. He should have forgotten his name as her hips rocked down into his, forgotten how to do anything but hold on when she squeezed around him. That just wasn't the case. He wasn't unenthusiastic to be sure, but he was very aware of everything. It was almost too impersonal and personal at the same time. He didn't know where to look or to put his hands. Emma helped at first, had him grab her hips or ass. But when she leaned over him to prop her hands on the headboard for better leverage, his discomfort caught her attention and made her stop.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

Jefferson watched a bead of sweat migrate from her stomach to his instead of finding an answer.

 

"Is my hair bothering you?"

 

He shook his head as she reached up to tie it back. "No, no. Nothing. I'm fine."

 

"You look terrified." She leaned away and wiped her face, breathing heavily. "You seriously look like I was about to kill you or something. What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing." Jefferson blinked a few times and then looked past her shoulder to avoid her eyes. "I…"

 

She sighed and slipped off of him, swinging her leg over and then pushing him. "Got it. Too personal. Off. Off the bed."

 

He clambered to the floor and then stood there, waiting for more directions. Emma climbed to the foot of the bed and positioned herself on its edge on hands and knees. Looking over at him as he stared she jerked her head behind her.

 

"There. Now we're not face to face. Let's go."

 

She'd read him spot on. Standing behind her, hands on her waist, in her hair, and in control of the pace, he was much more comfortable. He was _much_ more comfortable.

 

"Pull my hair," she moaned as he sunk into her. "Hard."

 

Jefferson did, he also moved harder and faster when she demanded it. He was panting soon, groaning and shaking for release. Hope's name may have slipped out when he did, but Emma wouldn't have heard it. She was screaming.

 

"Oh my god," she breathed, sighing and stretching out.

 

 Even after all that he didn't look at her. Eyes on her curled toes Jefferson fought to catch his breath, leaning against one post.

 

"Mmm, mmm. I might have to make this a more than just one night stand. You think you can handle that?"

 

Words. Jefferson needed to reply with words. "I have absolutely no problem with that. I'm always here."

 

She sat up and leaned to pick up her phone as he wobbled to his bathroom and then back to the bed.

 

"It's only 11:30 and I'm not tired. More scotch?"

 

Jefferson sat down heavily and shook his head. "No. I just need some time. Help yourself." He laid back and shut his eyes while she padded to the bottle and poured herself another.

 

"Don't you feel better?" She asked sitting down but giving him some space.

 

"Yes." Jefferson felt incredible. He also felt guilty, but he pushed that aside. Overall, he felt better, like a different person. "I'd forgotten."

 

"Didn't seem like it. Okay. I want to be on top this time, but I'll face away. Alright?"

 

Jefferson heard her glass tap down on his nightstand. Was just getting his head around replying when the bed sunk down beside him. "Yes, but I'm still going to need a minute-- oh." She didn't like to use her mouth, wasn't big on kissing beyond the lips, but she knew what to do with her hands.

 

"That's what I thought. Sit up. Kneeling. On your heels."

 

Jefferson couldn't keep his eyes open after the second time. He knew she was moving around, could hear her probably getting dressed, but his body just wouldn't respond.

 

"Good luck," he mumbled, somewhere in between waking and sleeping.

 

"What?" She sounded amused.

 

"Good luck with Henry's father tomorrow. If you want it."

 

Emma chuckled. "Thanks, Jefferson. I may be in touch."

 

"I can drive you home," he thought he said just after, but when he received no response and finally peeled open his eyes, he found the room empty. She'd already gone.

 

* * *

 

Jefferson didn't hear from Emma again. Not for a long time. He had the feeling that she had left, or that something had happened, but he couldn't remember. He only knew that he picked up Grace the day after his tryst with Emma and then somehow she looked older. Grace did. Grace seemed a little different, but he couldn't recall that happening. When he went into town next, it became clear that everyone was missing some time, that about a year had been taken from them, but none of them knew how or why.

 

What was new? It didn't really matter, though, once he thought about it. Grace was still there with him. They were both healthy. He had no reason to complain, just to accept that magic was a problem he had to live with.

 

Rumpelstiltskin's death took him by surprise, as did the absence of Emma and Henry. After running into the Prince he learned why, the whole debacle with the Neverland overlord that Jefferson had actively avoided in his travels, the undoing of the curse. The mystery then was, how did they get back to Storybrooke. David posited a second Dark Curse. He didn't know who had cast it or why or why this time it took only a specific portion of their memories, but was convinced it was a second Dark Curse.

 

Jefferson had simply shrugged. Being home would have been nice, but being here worked as well. So, he went about his business as if nothing had changed.

 

Grace _was_ older, though. That was something they had to deal with, and Jefferson tried but he was eventually found inept. He really needed Hope. After the first month or so, he finally had to admit defeat and take her to someone. He knew a little about a lot of things, but this wasn't something that a little bit of knowledge was going to suffice for.

 

Problem was, he didn't know who to take her to. Hope would have known, hell, it would have been enough to ask Emma. She would have laughed at him, but she could have helped. The hospital seemed too extreme, so instead he found himself wandering aimlessly, arm around her shoulder, down main street.

 

Ruby was the one who found them, loitering outside the pharmacist's. She'd taken one look at Grace then rolled her eyes at Jefferson and guided the two of them back to the diner, Grace's hand in hers. Granny was on top of it, barked a few things at Jefferson that he didn't really follow and then led Grace to the back, presumably to instruct her in all the ways he couldn't. That left Jefferson to stare dully at his hands at the bar.

 

"They do grow up, you know. You kinda have to be prepared for that." Ruby sat down next to him, slid a cup of tea into his hand.

 

"It was easier when she was a baby, when I could hold her, make her happy by just pulling faces or picking her up. Now I have to give her space, let her do her own thing. I'm starting to embarrass her, you know? Without even trying. I'm just horribly humiliating."

 

"No. It's her age. She doesn't really think that. Everything's embarrassing when you're thirteen."

 

"And there's all these things I'm not equipped for. Before, I just kept thinking, oh, I'll deal with that discussion when it comes that time. But then, I never actually prepared for it. I know nothing."

 

Ruby laughed and patted his back. "It'll be fine. This world's pretty good about that. They have sex ed class at the school, so she'll pick up most of it there."

 

"SEX ED CLASS? I was talking about… armpits… and new undergarments… and… and…"

 

"The birds and the bees? Yeah. Sex Ed class. Covers it all."

 

"She's thirteen! She's… she's…"

 

"Not a child anymore? Thinking about holding hands and her first kiss? Wondering why in the world her father is alone?"

 

"No--what?" Jefferson turned to her, completely caught off guard. "What?"

 

Ruby shrugged. "I would be."

 

Jefferson stared at her, trying to decipher the gleam in her eye. Ruby let him stare and then grinned, lip bitten. She looked like she would eat him alive.

 

"Okay, Papa." Grace saved him, walking out of the back room, blushing but obviously relieved. "I'm all ready now. Thanks, Ruby, Granny." She came around the corner and then looked up at Jefferson, a smile splitting over her face. "Or we can stay for a little while."

 

"Uh…" Jefferson followed her gaze and, realizing she was looking at Ruby's hand on his shoulder, he hopped up. "Oh! Uh, no, I'm sure they're really busy here. We've taken enough of their time. Really appreciate it, by the way. You saved me."

 

"We're not busy. Stay for lunch," Ruby said sweetly.

 

"You're welcome, but you should know these things by now." Granny eyed Ruby then Jefferson and rolled her eyes. "As much as I hate to say it, maybe you _should_ stick around, let me explain some things to you so you can take care of your daughter yourself. I'll have the kitchen start up the griddle. Grilled cheese work for you, Grace?"

 

"Yes, please."

 

She came by to collect the coasters stacked beside Jefferson, leaned over the counter. "And keep your hands to yourself."

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

Jefferson and Grace moved to a booth and shared an early lunch with Ruby across the table, Granny hovering from behind the bar. They talked the whole time, mostly Grace and Ruby, but Jefferson contributed here and there. Grace liked Ruby so it was easy for the hour and a half to pass in a blink. After they'd eaten, Granny called him aside, explained in excruciating and mortifying detail the depth of his ignorance and then sent them packing.

 

As if that weren't trying enough for one day, when they got home Grace spent the entire afternoon in the woods and evening at dinner attempting to convince Jefferson to start dating again.

 

"I know that you're lonely, Papa. You look sad after dinner and when you make me go to bed. You miss Mama, but it's okay to try to be with someone else. Mama would want you to be happy."

 

Grace had abandoned the more subtle line of questioning and resorted to just telling him what she thought. It made Jefferson's fish much less appealing.

 

"Grace, honey, it's okay. I'm okay. Promise."

 

"You're lying. You're not a very good liar either."

 

He sighed and dropped his head. She was never going to stop. "I do miss your mama. I do. Without a doubt. But I don't want to be with anyone else. She was my one."

 

"Your one?"

 

"Some people only love one person, like their true love. Your mama was my one person."

 

"That doesn't mean you have to be alone forever afterwards. Didn't you date people before Mama?"

 

"Yes, I did."

 

"And that was okay even though they weren't your one person."

 

"Yes, it was, but that's not how I feel about things anymore. It's a lot of effort, dating. You have to really like a person to court them--date them."

 

"What about Ms. Ruby. You like her."

 

"I do not."

 

"You're lying again, Papa. You got all red and stuttery around her."

 

"I did not--okay, the stuttering was because she… and her Granny are intimidating."

 

"Then why were you all red?"

 

"I wasn't."

 

"You were. Your ears were really red."

 

"That? That was… my… blood-pressure. My blood-pressure was high because I was stressed because of your growing up. Yep. That's what it was. Blood-pressure." Jefferson sat back, pleased with himself and his on the spot explanation.

 

Grace was not convinced. Her mouth was pursed into a little heart, brow furrowed just one crinkle. "Papa… I'm not a little girl anymore, you don't have to hide things from me."

 

Never had one sentence so entirely destroyed him. She wasn't his little girl anymore. She thought he was hiding things from her. "Oh, my dear Grace, I know you're not _a_ little girl anymore, but you'll always be _my_ little girl, okay? And I'm not hiding things from you. I'm not interested in Ms. Ruby that way."

 

"And why not? She likes you."

 

Jefferson laughed until he saw the seriousness in his daughter's face. "Oh, you mean that. Well, um, Ms. Ruby likes a lot of people, she's a very friendly person, and I'm--"

 

"No. She _like_ likes you, Papa."

 

"Maybe, but probably not, and besides, she would be… a lot…"

 

"A lot of what?"

 

"A lot of what? Ha. Um… Ms. Ruby is a very… confident lady, and she… likes things a certain way and I'm… more laid back."

 

"Ms. Ruby seems pretty laid back to me."

 

"Uh, yes, I guess she does but when you're dating a person it's a little different. There's a different dynamic."

 

"You mean like who's in charge."

 

"Yeah, sometimes, but also it has to do with what each person wants. I like to stay in and spend time with you and Ms. Ruby likes to go out and be with her friends."

 

"So, you're boring and she's fun."

 

Jefferson snorted, "exactly, we want different things from our time."

 

"Then why does Ms. Ruby _like_ like you?"

 

"Oh, I don't--I don't know. There are probably other factors involved. The bottom line is, though, that… um, the dating would last very long."

 

"But you could try anyways."

 

Jefferson laughed in exasperation. "Yes, I suppose I could."

 

"Good." Grace hopped up from the table and took her plate to the sink. "Then, I think you should ask Ms. Ruby on a date. Deal?"

 

"I'll think about it, Grace, as long as you promise to stop talking about it for tonight."

 

"Okay… but if you don't ask her, I'll ask her for you."

 

"Okay. You little extortionist. Now, bath then bed. Got it?"

 

"Love you, Papa!" She smiled sweetly up at him and then traipsed up the stairs.

 

"Yeah… love you too, twerp."

 

* * *

 

Jefferson had finished up the dishes and checked in on Grace to make sure she'd brushed her teeth, still thinking over that exhaustingly long and wearying day. He hoped it wouldn't get any worse than this. He knew that was pointless. There would still be that day when Grace announced she _like_ liked someone and he would have to deal with that. Or even more uncomfortable, explain what she learned in this dreaded sex ed class in further detail during a six hour torture/interrogation session like that night's. Grace let him be for the rest of the evening, though. He'd almost forgotten about it by about ten, when he was sitting in his arm chair reading about cultivating wild plants. He was thinking about transplanting some of the smaller species from the woods to the big space around his house. He almost didn't hear the light knock on his door.

 

"Emma?"

 

She smiled weakly and shrugged. "Hi, Jefferson."

 

"Please, please come in," he quickly opened the door wider and ushered her inside. "What--what's going on? I thought you were… your memories were changed and you were gone…"

 

"Oh, I was. Now I'm back and what's going on?" She ran her hands through her hair and paced a tight circle , completely distracted and obviously flustered. There were some things to get off her chest judging by her tone.

 

"Oh, _you know_ , the usual. My mom's pregnant, I almost married a flying monkey, the wicked witch of the west is attacking my loved ones, Henry thinks we're here on a _bonds_ job, and I can't decide about Killian. You?"

 

Jefferson stared at her for a moment and then stepped to his sideboard to pour her a drink. "My daughter's older and I don't remember that happening. Bad timing, too. _Really_ bad timing. It got extremely confusing there for a while."

 

Emma winced. "Oh. Sounds _fun…_ is… is she here tonight?"

 

"Yeah. She's asleep upstairs."

 

"Oh…" Emma looked down though didn't completely hide her disappointment. "I'll go then."

 

"You can stay for a drink at least. And this is a big house, she won't hear us talking."

 

Emma accepted her drink but didn't sit down. "Thanks, I just really need to blow off some steam."

 

"Well, I can listen."

 

"I meant… something more energetic than talking."

 

"Uh…" Jefferson frowned, looking up towards Grace's room. "She'll hear us doing that…"

 

"Yeah. Well, I could use the friendly ear as well. Definitely the drink."

 

"Those I've got… now," he waited until she sat down and then joined her with the bottle of scotch, "is Killian the pirate?"

 

"Yes, Killian's the pirate…" Emma explained how she'd ended up back there in brief. It was a lot of information in a compact form, the basic gist the Jefferson got was that she had her memories because of the pirate and their relationship was complicated.

 

"…I hate that my super power doesn't work all the time here and I especially hate that I can't tell Henry anything. I don't like lying to the kid." She finished off her drink and thanked him when Jefferson poured her another.

 

"I understand that. It's a fine line with kids their age," he confided, thinking back on the lie-athon with Grace that day and pouring an extra slosh of whiskey into the tea he'd just made.

 

"Oh, _nice._ I talked so much you're spiking your tea."

 

"No, no," he chuckled, "no. It was a long day long before you arrived."

 

"Hmm." Emma sipped from her drink, green eyes finally resting from their frenetic hopping during her stories. They looked darker, still on his face. For an instant it almost seemed like she was appraising him. "I've talked enough, now, I think. What about you? Mostly better, yeah? 'Cause... long day or not, Jefferson, you look good. Fatherhood suits you."

 

He could feel his ears reddening. "Oh, well, thanks. Grace keeps me busy, makes sure I eat."

 

"That's lucky. It's nice, isn't it? Having a life with them?"

 

"Yes. No doubt. A little lonely, but not nearly what it used to be. I'm getting used to it. Though, she insists otherwise. You know," he scoffed but was glad to have someone to share this with, "she's decided I need to start dating again. She badgered me about it for literally five hours today and is now set on the idea that I ask Red out…"

 

He looked up when Emma didn't laugh along with him. She was chewing her lip.

 

"Is _this_ a bad idea then?"

 

"I don't know… Red's a bit much for me, I think, I tried to explain--"

 

"No, I mean tonight, me being here. Will it upset Grace if she wakes up?"

 

"Oh, Grace? No. I think she'd be ecstatic, honestly. Whether this is a _good_ idea is all up to you. I mean, what are you going to do about the pirate? About Neal?"

 

"We haven't found Neal yet," she replied, voice tired.

 

"Emma, I'm sorry." Jefferson slid closer to pat her back in condolence, maybe give a soothing hug. She took his meaning differently. His hand instead fell into her hair when she leaned into him, scrunched into its curls when her lips met his.

 

He kissed her for a second, tasted scotch and warm fervor.

 

"That's not drinking or talking," he murmured, pulling away from her as her hand moved up his leg.

 

"Ugh, sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I act more easily than I talk."

 

"You know, I can just tell Grace that I'm going into town to help someone for a little while. She's thirteen, she can be alone for an hour or so, and I'll ask the neighbors to watch the house until we get back. I've done it for them before."

 

There was a heady tug there in the pit of his stomach. It made this change of mind an easy decision. Emma responded with hooded lids and a smirk.

 

"Okay. I can check out an extra room at Granny's. I'll call while you're upstairs." She waved him to the stairs and dug her cell from her pocket. "Hurry."

 

Jefferson jogged back downstairs a minute later. "Well, she was _very_ concerned, but not so much that she stayed awake long enough for me to explain fully. She heard I'd be back soon and then passed clean out."

 

"Great. I've got an extra room on my tab and Ruby said she'd leave the key under my door. She doesn't know who I'm having a tryst with, but she's very interested, so we'll have to be stealthy."

 

"Okay, I'll call Holly next door and then we can leave."  Jefferson finished his tea as he called the neighbors and gathered their drinks up. "Snack?" He asked hanging up the phone and handing Emma the scotch bottle.

 

"Thank you. I will if you don't mind."

 

"Bring the whole thing," Jefferson said and pulled on his coat. "Refreshments for later."

 

It was tricky getting inside the B & B unseen, but they managed it. Emma was more paranoid about it than him, but he agreed with her that it would be bad for their kids to find out from someone else that they were meeting in the dead of night at a hotel. As eager as she'd been at his house, Emma still had the same rules and insisted upon the same direct efficiency. She did take an extra moment to compliment him as they stripped off their clothing.

 

"I was serious before, Jefferson, you look good. Whatever you're doing works." She was biting her lip.

 

"Uhhh... Thanks? Y--you look great, too. Parenthood looks good on you as well."

 

"No, I look the same. You look… filled out."

 

Jefferson laughed as he kicked off his pants. Emma Swan, always direct.  "You sound like Hope used to. Apparently the sleep-deprived, starved look doesn't do me justice."

 

"Not when this is the alternative."

 

He shivered as her hands flitted over his chest then back and arms. Beside that indulgence, though, their little rendezvous proceeded on much the same lines. They hardly bothered with anything beyond the formalities. A kiss, a fondle here and there, condom on with no pomp and then Emma was bending over the bed legs spread, braced on her hands.

 

"Better," Emma sighed, arching her back and flexing her toes.

 

"Glad I could help." Jefferson found his knees again and then voiced the question that'd been bothering him for some time. "I've got to ask though, why me?"

 

"Why you?" Emma echoed back, almost sounding bored.

 

"Yeah, why me? Of all the men? You're in love with two--"

 

"Maybe."

 

"You're _maybe_ in love with two others but you're sleeping with me. Why?"

 

"With you it's uncomplicated. It's just sex." 

 

"And talking and drinks."

 

"Yeah, but no cuddling, no emotions. Uncomplicated." She stretched out to her full length and then exhaled contentedly. "Do you think you could manage once more?"

 

Jefferson checked his watch. "You have me for twenty more minutes then I'm doubling your bill." He laughed as she kicked him. "Joking, no, but really we have twenty more minutes before I told Holly I'd be back."

 

"I can work with that."


	9. As Good As You Get

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Favors are repaid. In a big way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some grief sex in this chapter, fair warning. It's pretty short though and you'll see it when it's coming if you want to avoid it. Everything's smooth sailing after that.

When Jefferson opened his door to Emma the next afternoon, at first, he was flattered and frankly pretty proud of himself.

 

"Emma. _My._ Twice in as many day--" then he noticed the redness to her eyes and tightness of her lips. "Oh, Emma, are you alright?"

 

He ushered her inside and tossed aside the bag of clothes he'd been on his way out to donate. "Come here, come here. Sit. What's happened?"

 

"Neal--" her voice broke and she shook her head, drawing a shuddering breath. "Neal's been killed and I just had to tell Henry that his father died. The kid didn't even remember him. He'll never have known his father."

 

Emma was on the edge of tears but was clearly fighting it hard.  
 

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Emma."

 

"How do you do it?" Her resolve was trembling as she stared at him. That usual, piercing brightness of her eyes swimming. "How do you tell your kid their other parent's not coming back? He couldn't even _remember_ him and it crushed him. How do you do it? How do you stand it?" She didn't make it any farther than that, holding a hand to her brow as the tears refused to be held in.

 

"You do it however you can, but you never stand it. You do it and then you keeping at it and you don't stop, because if you stop you'll never get back up again. Trust me."

 

"It'd be easier just to forget." Her voice was thick with tears but there was a fire behind them. Emma was angry.

 

"Yes. Yes, it would be, but that wouldn't do him any honor. He deserves to be remembered, right?"

 

"Yes." She nodded, covering her face with her hands, rubbing it dry. "Yes, he does, but... I don't want to--I don't know if I _can_ think about it right now. I want to be somewhere else. I want to be _someone_ else." Clearing her throat, she looked up at him, eyes blue with her tears. "Please, Jefferson, help me be someone else. Let me be someone who hasn't just lost the father of her child."

 

Jefferson knew it was a bad idea. Knew that she needed to deal with this grief, but she asked so solemnly, with such conviction that it was going to help her, he had to assent. He would have appreciated the same kindness when he was in that very situation.

 

"Okay. Whatever you want, Emma."

 

That day she wanted rough and hard and fast and he gave it to her, even though he felt it was the last thing she needed. She needed consolation and comfort, not the name of her lost loved one pounded from her mind. That didn't happen anyway. She finished screaming like she had before, but Jefferson stopped immediately when he heard the sobbing.

 

"Emma! I'm so sorry!" He pulled away and ducked around her to see if he'd hurt her. "Are you okay? I didn't hear you say to stop--"

 

"No. No. I'm… I'm not hurt. I'm just crying like an _idiot."_ She fell onto the bed, face in a pillow, with a huff.

 

Jefferson sighed and sat down next to her, the thought of their former activity completely abandoned. "This might not have been the best idea."

 

"No, it's what I asked for."

 

 "I know, but that's not what I meant."

 

She wasn't looking at him, in fact kept her back to him when she finally rolled onto her side. Unreadable as usual. Nevertheless, Jefferson had an idea of what she might need to hear. It was what he'd wished someone had told him decades earlier.

 

"I mean that you may not know what you actually want right now. Grief is a... strange thing. It twists you up, makes things seem like what they're not. This might have seemed exactly like what you wanted: passionate, verging on violent sex to physically force the thought of Neal from your mind. But now that you've had it, you don't feel better. You feel… guilty, or you miss him more, or you wish I were him and you feel cheated that I'm not. I don't know... but it's clear that you're not feeling _better_ for it."

 

"I should have been with him while I could." It was just a whisper, breathed without tears. The cold, bitter truth of her realization. Emma covered her mouth as if to draw back those words and gazed wide-eyed at him. "Shouldn't I have?"

 

Jefferson shook his head. "Don't add that to it. Trust me, regret does you no favors. Listen, you don't need this right now. You don't need to escape, you need to face it. Grief can't be ignored or it festers. It demands to be worked out and suffered through. You should do that. You should be with Henry and your parents, not here. I'm just a way to procrastinate the process."

 

"You're right." Emma stooped to the ground and started picking up her clothing quickly. "We probably shouldn't do this again, then. I've run away enough."

 

"Probably not."

 

She dressed in a hurry, like she was ashamed, and then gave him one more look. "Thanks, Jefferson."

 

"Take care, Emma."

 

Most people probably would have hurried to dress, made sure she made it out to her car, that she was okay, but Jefferson knew better. The defiant flash in her last look made it clear that Emma didn't want pity. She didn't want him to coddle her. So he let her go, dignity bruised but intact to hurry out of his house on her own. He sat there, naked and abashed, for a few minutes. He did the right thing in the end, but it didn't make _him_ feel any better about it.

 

"Hope? I know this is an odd moment to say so, but I never wanted to forget you. Not really. I miss you. I love you. I'm so, so sorry. I'll see you soon."

 

Only after his little prayer did Jefferson get up and carry on. He tidied the room and put away his clothes in a hamper and took a shower, finally getting dressed to drop those old clothes of Grace's off down at the nunnery's donation box. And so he moved on, hardly looking back, and picking up with his routine with Grace like nothing had changed. He even promised her he would make that date with Ruby the next weekend.

 

He'd just dropped Grace at the bus stop a few days later and was on his way to suggest that very thing, when he saw Emma next. Actually, she saw him, found him and pulled him aside and down an alleyway. She seemed okay, recovered, if a little angry.

 

"You've worked with Regina, right? She's enlisted you as an ally before, hasn't she?" She hopped right to the matter at hand, no cordialities, no formalities.

 

Jefferson grimaced at the thought. "Yes. I have. Why?"

 

"She's going to train me. In magic. So we can fight Zelena. I want some pointers, some things to look out for."

 

"Don't let her talk you into something you don't want to do," he grumbled back immediately. "It's never to your benefit."

 

"Okay. She's selfish and manipulative, I knew that already. Anything else?"

 

"She doesn't keep her word."

 

Emma sighed, "yes, I've heard the full reportage of reasons why this is a mistake. I just want to know if there's anything I can do to ensure that it won't be."

 

"Impress her. If you have something that she doesn't, make sure she knows. She'll make sure you're around if she thinks she can use you."

 

"Impress her? I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of what's going to happen. I don't know anything about magic."

 

"Maybe, but you have a lot of it and it's powerful. I felt you come into town when you first arrived. It's there and it's strong. You just have to learn to access it and use it. You'll be fine. _You're special_."

 

She looked up with a tiny smirk at his quotation of himself.

 

Jefferson allowed a smile. "I stand by that statement. And I was right."

 

"I guess you were."

 

"Alright. Be seeing you, Emma." He gave her a small grin and turned to leave.

 

Her hand caught his elbow first, however. "Jefferson, hey. Wait. I'm sorry about the other day."

 

"Ah, don't worry about it. Seriously. I understand."

 

It was her turn to flash a small grin that was anything but happy. "I won't be coming back," she added gently.

 

"Not surprising."

 

"And thanks for this, Jefferson, and… that. I'll find a way to pay you back for it all. I give as good as I get. Promise. This...this isn't on topic, and stop me if I'm crossing a line, but do you mind if I ask you a question about Hope. It's been bothering me for a while now."

 

Jefferson crossed his arms but nodded. "Go ahead."

 

"What did happen to her? You--you never say."

 

Her face was as stoic as usual but her voice was softer. Jefferson never talked about this for a reason, but for Emma? Maybe it was time to admit it to someone. 

 

"She was dragged through a shadow door."

 

"Shadow door?"

 

"Yes. It's a rift between worlds. I caused it by misusing my hat. They open usually to let spirits pass from one land to another, like that wraith. I'm not sure, but I think they all lead to the same place, though." It all came tumbling out of his mouth in a quick string. Better to get it said quickly than to linger on every painful word. "There's… there's nothing living there. She died." The final word was barely audible. It caught in his throat.

 

Emma's face softened into that worst of expressions, pity. "Oh… I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. But, uh, I meant what I said before. I owe you."

 

The encounter ended amiably and Emma's question was clearly not ill-intentioned, but nonetheless it put Jefferson right off his task for the day. Dredging up memories of Hope's death did nothing to inspire him to ask Ruby out on a date. In fact, the whole discussion soured him to the idea of it. Acting like a problem wasn't a problem did nothing to solve it, and just like Emma had been running from her indecision and grief, Jefferson had been ignoring the fact that he still hadn't let go of his wife by pretending to be capable of looking at another woman without thinking of Hope. It wasn't healthy and it was going to do anyone any good.

 

Grace was immensely disappointed in him at first, that he'd broken his promise. But when Jefferson explained, really laid out to her why he wasn't ready, she had accepted it, nodded in understanding, and given him a big hug. She just wanted the truth and for her papa to be honest with himself. That much was clear. And so, their life went on, as well as it could do with Storybrooke having another meltdown around them. The flying monkeys were especially upsetting and really restricted their time outdoors. Jefferson kept things as regular as he could, though, refusing to let Storybrooke's fucked-up-ness or his renewed grief over Hope disturb the happy life he'd created for them. Grace kept attending school, Jefferson kept participating in town and he still showed up for every Thursday that the town meetings were actually held.

 

He was helping Belle in the library, reshelving books when the cry came through town that 'ding, dong, the witch is defeated.' He heard of the new prince's birth in the same place the same afternoon and eventually made a brief and unseen appearance at the boy's christening with Grace. He was still involved, but he wasn't as involved. He avoided more people than he actively sought out, Emma among them. And she seemed to share that avoidance, having forgotten or put off that promise of giving as good as she got. But that was okay, she had other things to worry about.

 

* * *

 

 

Summer rolled around and he and Grace began to spend most of their time outside again, in the woods. He was happier now, but the nights had become an ordeal again. What was a blessing, was the fact that Grace had lost her mild embarrassment at his every word or deed, if only temporarily, and didn't recoil from spending time with him outside of meals. She also left the subject of his dating prospects alone. Unfortunately, on the other end of that, she'd admitted to having a 'crush' on Pinocchio who was now going by August again, which was all very weird and uncomfortable to Jefferson, seeing as August had been a thirty something man not two years before. He wasn't anymore but that didn't make the fact that he was now the boy his daughter had chosen as the object of her affection any better, or comfort Jefferson at all. Nor even did the fact that the boy was a couple years younger than Grace and didn't quite see their _friendship_ eye to eye with her.

 

The day of their 'first date', which was really just ice cream at a table together at Granny's while Jefferson and Marco sat a few booths away, Jefferson felt physically ill. He was nauseous to the point of not having an appetite at all, even after Marco gently reminded him that it was nothing but an overblown playdate. Needless to say, he was massively relieved to get home that evening (and to finally eat). That was his mind frame, one of wary exhaustion, when his doorbell rang.

 

He set down the cookbook he was rifling through, planning meals for the next week, and wearily trudged to the door. He didn't know who it was or what they wanted, but he'd had enough excitement for the day and so was not keen on finding out. Oddly enough, it was the pirate. He couldn't resist his curiosity, frustratingly, and opened the door with a certain degree of caution.

 

"Hello…?"

 

"Evening." The pirate nodded at him, visibly eyeing Jefferson in the process. "You're the hatter? You're the hatter's been… taking care of Swan?"

 

Jefferson crossed his arms. The air between them felt like a spark would catch it aflame, the two of them sizing each other up fiercely. The pirate was not as impressive as Jefferson had expected him to be after distant observation.

 

He didn't hesitate to answer with aplomb. "I'm Jefferson, if that's who you're looking for."

 

"Aye, that's the one. Right… can't fault you for the lady's request." He shrugged and extended his hand. Jefferson took it warily. "The name's Killian. Swan's gone to fetch something for you. She'll be right back."

 

"Okay… and you're here… why?"

 

"It's a two-man job, the delivery of this parcel. You'll understand."

 

"Right." Jefferson sighed heavily, shifted the weight from one foot to another. "Uh, do you want to come inside, or…?"

 

"It's best if I wait here."

 

"Right."

 

The sheer awkwardness of the situation between them was crippling. Jefferson couldn't really believe that Emma had shared the details of their little arrangement with the pirate. He wished she hadn't at that moment.

 

"Fine night," Killian observed at last.

 

"Yes, yes it is."

 

He cleared his throat as the pirate fiddled with his hook.

 

"Got you hand cut off?"

 

"Aye. Your head?"

 

"Yep."

 

"Nasty business."

 

"Yep… so she... told you about the--"

 

"She mentioned it happened, aye. I didn't get the full report, though, so spare me."

 

"Oh, okay." Jefferson exhaled in relief. "Good to know."

 

"Papa?" Grace's voice floated down from her bedroom. "Is there someone here? I heard talking." Her little face popped up over the banister at the top of the stairs. "Oh! Oh! Can I come down to say hello?"

 

Jefferson glared at the pirate momentarily and then turned to Grace. "You may, baby, as long as you're still dressed."

 

"I am!" She came galloping the steps, smile planted wide on her face. She practically skidded to a stop beside Jefferson and held her hand out to Killian. "You're the pirate, aren't you? The one Henry's mom knows. I'm Grace."

 

Jefferson glowered at the other man, just daring him to cross a line with his daughter there. Killian grinned, unfazed, and carefully shook Grace's hand.

 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, lass. I am the pirate you've heard tale of, the name's Killian Jones. Your father and I were just getting to know one another. Tell me, do you favor him or your mother more. From the look of you, I'll guess your mother, and she must be quite lovely."

 

Grace giggled at the tease in Killian's tone but answered rather solemnly. "My mama isn't with us anymore, though Papa says I look more like her."

 

"She does," Jefferson agreed.

 

"Mmm, your father is a fortunate man indeed then, to have had you both--"

 

"Killian!" Emma called from somewhere beyond the light of Jefferson's porch.

 

"Ah, that's my signal. Pleased to me you, lass." The pirate gave a dashing grin before swaggering off. Emma herself showed up in his place moments later.

 

"Oh, hi, Grace. Can you do me a favor? Can you let me and your dad talk together alone for just a minute?"

 

"Just wait inside, I'll call you back out when we're finished," Jefferson told her gently when Grace started looking dejected. She slouched inside and let the door close with a slump. "Sorry, she's in a mood all the time these days…"

 

Emma waved it off. "No worries, she was fine. So look, I wanted to give you a bit of a briefing before… well, before the thing I'm briefing you for happens. It's better if you… see and then Grace can. Yeah?"

 

"Alright…" Jefferson was feeling distinctly anxious. Emma's caution was verging on extreme and the way she was selecting her words so specifically made him suspect something was wrong.

 

"Right. Good. Okay. Jefferson. Okay… remember when you… remember… oh, how do I explain this?" She pressed her fingers to her eyes and he held his breath. "Listen, after the new curse was broken, Mary Margaret and David remembered some things. They remembered their friends Aurora and Phillip. Phillip had been attacked by a wraith, our wraith actually that Gold set on Regina, a while back."

 

She looked at him, watching for a reaction.

 

"And… lost his soul?"

 

"Well, yes… that's what we thought, but really his soul was transported--"

 

"To the shadow lands, that's where they go. I can't portal jump there."

 

"Yes, to the shadow lands. They called it part of the netherworld, but yes, which is where the shadow doors lead…"

 

Jefferson sighed. They just didn't learn. "Emma, even if my hat was working I couldn't jump there. It's a one-way trip."

 

"Actually, that's the thing. It's not."

 

"What?"

 

"Yeah, Phillip got his soul back, but that's not the important part…"

 

The important part? What could be the important part then? Jefferson's heart was racing. He was hanging on Emma's every word. This was big, whatever this was, it was big.

 

She kept talking so slowly, so gently he wanted to shake her. "The important part is that when a soul travels there, it just passes through. It can pass out just the same if given the opportunity. The opportunity just has to be found. But a corporeal thing, a person with a body isn't meant to be there, so the portal changes them to fit the land."

 

Jefferson staggered and caught himself against the wall. "Cha--changes? She--she didn't..." he gasped.

 

Emma shook her head. "The wraiths are the only thing that can extract a soul permanently for the netherworld, besides physically dying. The portal has nothing to do with it. It just accommodates." She pulled a book out of the bag she'd left on the porch and opened it to a page. "Belle found this. The lore says souls are like winds and bodies are rocks."

 

Jefferson peered at the illustration in the book, scanned the writing next to it carefully. "She was turned to stone?"

 

"Crystal, actually, but yes." Emma tucked away the book.

 

"Crystal? She's still there frozen as a crystal?"

 

"When the wraith was called by Gold, it broke the seal between the worlds. The pendant that summons it is really powerful. It brings everything with substance through in order to draw the wraith."

 

"What?"

 

Emma nodded, a small smile in her eyes. "I was surprised too, and a little disbelieving, when Belle told me. It's an old dusty book with weird rhymes… but anyway, I thought it was worth checking into, you know, because I give as good as I get. So, I took some of the dwarves, they know rocks, into the woods where Gold summoned the wraith. After a little searching we found some strange crystals in one of the grottoes…"

 

She paused and let Jefferson compose himself. He was shaking, tears in his eyes. It took all he had to keep his knees from collapsing under him.

 

"So, we got some restorative… potion... stuff from Gold. Apparently he owed you? Anyway, well, Killian?!"

 

If he hadn't been petrified by mounting anticipation and the years of having his hopes dashed, Jefferson would have run to where Emma had shouted. But instead, he waited. He waited, staring into the darkness with his entire body trembling, his heart in his throat, and his mouth dry. It took a minute but the pirate reappeared, walking slowly towards them. Jefferson couldn't see him properly at first, saw only the gleam off his hook. The closer the pirate got, though, he was able to make out the huddled shape beside him, a flash of gold as something caught the light from his porch.

 

"Jefferson?"

 

It was the first time he'd heard that voice in thirty five years, but there was no mistaking it. That was her voice.

 

He lost his balance, one knee buckling under him. Emma was there to catch him though. She smiled at him, a riot of sadness in her own eyes.

 

Jefferson still couldn't see her, but she could see him.

 

"Jefferson."

 

He was speechless. There was nothing coming from his mouth, as much as he opened it and shut it, fought to answer. He had no breath to do so. When she finally stepped into the light he fell again, all the way onto his knees this time. She looked exactly as she did that day he lost her. Hair glowing in the dull light, eyes wide and frightened, but still soft and brown, her mouth a little open heart. Exactly the same.

 

"Where are we?" She whispered, stepping onto the porch in utter awe. "Who are these people? Why…" She was finally close enough to look into his face. Her eyes widened even more. "Why are you older?"

 

Tears beaded in her eyes as she shuffled toward him, fell down her cheeks as she reached out and cupped his face. Jefferson couldn't answer, he could only gaze at her, lean into her hands. The same hands, small and soft, but cold now. He pressed his own over them, hard, holding her there, making sure she was real, making her warm again.

 

"What's happening?" She had started shaking, the shock setting in.

 

"At least she's talking now," the pirate commented from behind them, "before she only stared."

 

"Jefferson, what's _happening?"_

 

"Hope." He finally said it.

 

"My Hope. Hope, my love. Oh, you're here." He found his strength again, found his feet and his voice. The blankets around her shoulders were slipping. He gathered them tighter and then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her like she would disappear if he let go. She was there, she was real and in his arms again.

 

"You're here. You're really here. My Hope. My Hope."

 

She was trembling and Jefferson was crying but he'd only been this happy once before, he wasn't going to stop holding her. Her hair was in his hands, between his fingers, silky and bright and long, smelled like home. Pressing her to his chest he breathed her in.

 

"I love you. I've missed you so much. I'm sorry, Hope. I--I can't believe you're here," he murmured into her hair, then looked up at Emma and Killian. "Thank you. Th--thank you so much. I can never repay you this. Thank you."

 

Hope stopped crying suddenly, gasped. "Jefferson, where's my baby? Where's our Grace?" She pushed away from him and stared up into his face. "Where's our daughter?"

 

"She's here. She's inside," he answered, smiling uncontrollably now. He wiped away the few tears that trailed down her cheeks and then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "She's fine. She'll be so happy to see you."

 

Jefferson glanced over his shoulder at Emma who was already moving towards the door. She stepped inside and Jefferson turned back to Hope as the door shut.

 

"She's older, too. Older like I am, but she's healthy and clever and _our_ daughter."

 

"Older? How much old--" her mouth dropped open as the light from inside the house poured over her face.

 

"Mama?" The question was small and timid.

 

"Hi, baby." Even with a smile in her words, Hope looked perfectly heart-broken.

 

When she stepped aside from Jefferson, her hand clasped hard to his arm for support, the hand she extended to Grace shook. She almost toppled over when Grace tackled her around the middle. Although she tried, she couldn't help sobbing. She smoothed her daughter's hair and gazed up at Jefferson in absolute anguish. She was more than confused she was grieving. That much was clear. But when Grace broke away, Hope was composed again, or as composed as was possible in the moment. She smiled through the tears and bent over to examine their daughter's face.

 

"How big you've gotten, my darling Grace, how big!" It was half a choked sob, half a laugh. "Look at you! Aren't you perfect? Oh, my baby. Mama is so very sorry to have missed you growing up into such a little lady, but she is so very glad to see you. Let me look at you."

 

Jefferson helped her kneel and then stood beside her as Hope fussed over their little girl. She drank in everything, braiding the hair from her face quickly, straightening her blouse, and then kissing her forehead.

 

"I missed you so much, Mama." Grace looped her arms around Hope's neck and hugged her tightly. She too was hiding her tears. Different tears, though. "I can't believe you're here! Where were you?"

 

"I don't know, darling."

 

"We'll talk about it later, Grace," Jefferson assured her and then helped Hope to her feet. "We'll all have a big talk after your mama and I get some things straightened out."

 

Grace looked between him and Hope and then broke into a blinding grin. "We're a family again, Papa." She hugged them both around the waists and then turned to Emma. "Thank you, Ms. Swan, for finding my mom and making my dad happy again."

 

"Oh, you're--you're welcome." Emma was taken aback by being included in the intimate moment, almost like she'd forgotten she was there at all.

 

Grace was unfazed. She hopped up to kiss Hope on the cheek, grinned at Jefferson and then stepped back to look at them both. That was only momentary, though, as something soon caught her attention and she bounded off the front porch towards the drive.

 

"Henry! Henry, hi! Did you meet my mom?" She skipped through the dimness and to Emma's little bug where Jefferson could just make out Henry sitting on the hood. She hopped up beside him and started talking his ear off.

 

Emma elbowed Killian and nodded towards the car. "We'll just be… over there."

 

Hope stared after their daughter for a moment and then withered in Jefferson's arms. She'd been putting on a brave face but she was clearly bewildered and exhausted by the whole ordeal.

 

"Jefferson, what happened?" She asked, crying quietly against his arm.

 

"You don't remember?"

 

Her eyes were wild for a second. "I--I don't know."

 

"We were in Dreamland. Do you remember that? We were using my hat to inner-world jump looking for that girl."

 

Hope shook her head.

 

"There was a door, a shadow door, a big dark archway. It swallowed you. You don't remember that?"

 

"I remember falling asleep on my feet," she said slowly, eyes far away. "Then it's all… dim."

 

Jefferson nodded. "Okay. That's what happened essentially. You were falling asleep, a lot. You were susceptible to Dreamland's effect, I guess because of the berries… Anyway, I tore through the bound of the realms accidentally by abusing the hat. That created the portal and you were pulled into the Shadow lands."

 

"Shadow lands? I don't remember… anything."

 

"You… well, you wouldn't. You weren't… you were turned to... crystal."

 

"Crystal? I wasn't… I didn't know… it feels like just yesterday." Her hair shimmered yellow as Hope shook her head. That wildness had returned to her eyes when she looked back at Jefferson. "How long?"

 

"Uh…" he wasn't sure how to break this part of the news to her. It was going to be the hardest to explain with the most and worst repercussions. "Well, for a long time, Hope."

 

"A long time. Okay. How long? How old is Grace?"

 

"Well, Grace… Grace is thirteen."

 

Hope's lip trembled. "Yes. I see that. Thirteen. Thirteen. I missed eight years of our daughter's life."

 

"Yes, Grace is eight years older, but… but…"

 

"But what, Jefferson?"

 

"You were gone for longer than that."

 

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand."

 

"No, you wouldn't, because it doesn't make sense. This place that we're in is the Land Without Magic. We ended up here, Grace and I, as the result of a curse Regina cast a little over five years after we lost you. Part of that curse meant that we were frozen in time." As he spoke, Jefferson followed the shifting expression around Hope's eyes. She went from confused to angry to perplexed again very quickly.

 

"Frozen? Frozen as in not aging or not moving or… what?"  
 

"We lived and moved and did things but nothing changed, no one aged. It was like that for twenty eight years."

 

Hope's mouth dropped open, she reached up immediately to cover it. "Twenty eight years?"

 

Jefferson nodded. "And then, it's been almost three since the curse was broken."

 

"You lived for _thirty-five years_ without me?" Her hand found his cheek and brushed it gently. "Thirty-five years? My love, I'm so sorry. What did you do? And my poor Grace. Did she think I _abandoned_ her?" There was real horror in her voice and Jefferson hurried to assure her otherwise.

 

"No. No, of course not. She… she wasn't conscious of the twenty eight years passing until the curse was broken."

 

"But you were," Hope said without uncertainty. Even amid the shock and pain, Hope was still Hope, keen-eyed and quick-witted. The surety of her assumption didn't take away the pain it caused, however. With tucked lips she grazed her thumb over the creases by his eyes, across his brow. "My love, my poor Jefferson. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for those years. If it hadn't been for the berries you wouldn't have had to raise her alone--"

 

"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have--"

 

"Shush. Shush, now. Let's not. Hmm? We both shall share that burden, yes?" The shock was fading, her personality waking and shining through even stronger.

 

Jefferson didn't have the heart to tell her the rest. He wanted to just be with her, just be happy with her and not weight her with his misery. He still couldn't believe he even had her again.

 

"Okay," he replied quietly, looking down at the ground, at his boot as he scuffed it.

 

Hope's brow furrowed. She leaned to catch his eye and then lifted his chin. "What is it? What's the matter, my love?"

 

Her eyes misted over as she looked into his face, ran her fingers again over the lines that hadn't been there before, the circles under his eyes. "Eight years," she whispered. "I'll ever be much younger than you now. I lost eight years of growing older with you."

 

She sniffled and dropped her hands, fidgeting with his clothes instead to avoid crying again. "I like the style of this world, though. It suits you." She managed a smile and then reached for his scarf. "But some things don't change, do they?"

 

Jefferson jerked away as she tried to straighten the fabric on his neck. He stopped the reflex too late. Hope's face darkened.

 

"What is it?" She tried again to adjust the scarf.

 

Closing his eyes, Jefferson held still and counted the seconds. Her fingers were quick and delicate, flitting over the folds of the cloth until it was loosened enough for her to moved it around.

 

"There. I just wanted to fi--" she gasped and then began pulling the scarf away. "What happened?" She wailed as it slipped from his neck, her fingers immediately tracing the scar from front to back. "Jefferson, what happened?!"

 

He didn't need to answer, she figured it out first.

 

Hope burst into hysterical tears, covered her mouth and stepped away, but left her eyes searing into his neck. It was loud, her dismay. Grace and Henry had quieted down at it. Jefferson tried to calm her, to keep from drawing further attention but she was inconsolable, absolutely distraught. There was no mistaking that she knew exactly what had happened. The horror in her eyes spoke volumes to that.

 

As he was working out how to explain without further horrifying Hope Emma approached them.

 

"Uh… Jefferson? Why don't you two take some time. Killian and I can take the kids for ice cream. Grace you like Granny's sundaes, right?"

 

Jefferson nodded at her and then ushered his huddled wife inside the house. "Hope. Hope, I'm sorry. I--"

 

"Did you leave Grace? Did you leave Grace to go back to Wonderland?"

 

He hung his head. "I did."

 

"And then you were beheaded," she sobbed, reaching for his neck but then jerking away. "Jefferson!"

 

"I can explain."

 

"Explain? _Explain?_ How are you _here?_ How are you okay? People never recover from the Queen's axe. They lose themselves. Did… did you… lose yourself?"

 

It would have been simple to answer that question. A resounding 'yes' would do it. Hope, however, deserved a gentler response, one that wouldn't further shock her on this already jarring day. He pursed his lips and shrugged one shoulder. 

 

"I have some things to tell you. It's not going to be pleasant. Do you want me to make you some tea, first?"

 

Hope was barely keeping herself together, brow knit, eyes glassy, lips shaking. "Yes. Please."

 

"Okay. Come here."

 

They didn't say anything more for a little while. Jefferson led her to the kitchen and put the kettle on. With troubled eyes, Hope watched everything. She was already working things out on her own. With her settled, he proceeded to clean her up, wipe the dirt from her face and chest. When it became clear that her horror at his scar wasn't impeding Hope's trust in him, Jefferson tossed aside the blanket she'd come wrapped in and pulled one of his shirts from the laundry room over her head. Tea steeping and Hope's dismay waning slowly on its own, he sat down next to her and took her hands in his.

 

"I'm going to tell you what happened. Everything that happened, but… it isn't good. Okay? I need you to know that beforehand. I don't want to surprise you more than I have to. I did some… terrible things, and I was not okay for a long time. But I'm better now, I have been for some years. I promise. Okay? I'm still me. Still your Jefferson."

 

"Just tell me. You're only making more nervous." She shook her head at him. "And, you're over-steeping the tea."

 

It took time, almost two hours, but Jefferson told her everything. Absolutely everything, in painful detail. Admitting everything he'd done hurt. Seeing the disappointment and pain in Hope's eyes destroyed him, but he did it anyway. She needed to know the truth and he needed to confess it. Surprisingly, it was his time in Wonderland that elicited the strongest reaction. She was appalled at what had happened to him, that her home and her habits had enabled such a downward spiral, that he'd fallen so low. The admission of his crimes in this world she accepted almost without blinking, just a purse of her lips. The details of his other deeds received a tiny smirk.

 

"Why are you smiling?" He finally asked after she continued smirking once he'd told her of his last tryst with Emma. "Are you okay?"

 

"Oh, my love, there's nothing wrong with me. You silly man. I'm merely amazed that you were alone for thirty-five years and it took you this long to find some comfort. Amazed and a little sad. Either you really loved me or you like being miserable." She laid a hand fondly on his cheek. "You should have moved on, Jefferson. You thought I was dead. Grace was right. Don't mistake me, I am glad I haven't returned to competition, but I would have preferred you to be comforted in the meanwhile."

 

The soft tone of her voice slipped as she took her hand away. He looked down from her eyes to find a more jaunty smirk playing around her lips.

 

'The woman you did finally seek comfort with, however, was surely worth the waiting. Yes? Her _hair_ is lovely."

 

Jefferson scoffed, "you're teasing me."

 

"I am. Of course I am, you silly man. Come here. Let me hold you." Hope took him in her arms and cradled his head to her, stroking the hair on the nape of his neck, soothing away the pain of the last decades, the last hours of confession.

 

He felt very small in her arms but also very at ease. He felt at home. A deep breath in found him restored. Grace had lifted the darkness from his mind, Hope was giving him fresh air for his soul.

 

"I'm still sorry, Hope." 

 

"And I still forgive you, Jefferson, all your mistakes. I understand. It must have been terribly difficult to do all this alone." She held him at arm's length and gazed into his face. "But we knew you had those little foibles, that's why I loved you. That's why I was supposed to be there. _I'm_ sorry that I wasn't. If it had been the other way around… I don't know what I'd have done. Possibly some things far worse. You've done admirably, Jefferson, overall, considering. Our daughter is… so… so perfect. And, look, you finally got the hair out of your face." She smiled like daybreak and combed her fingers through his hair.

 

"And you age very handsomely, my love. I only hope the same will be true for me."

  
 

"It will be, I haven't a single doubt." He certainly felt that it was impossible for her to age in any way but handsomely. Sunshine didn't age, it only grew gentler. She was a sight for sore eyes, a balm, the sun after winter, the first flower of spring. He could write a very corny sonnet about how much he wanted to look at her, touch her, smell her, feel her, taste her. She very literally made the world brighter.

 

He'd been waiting for the moment, the exact right moment to feel her lips again, the kiss to seal the fact that she was real and back with him. This was that moment. Except Hope beat him to it. With the simple precision she used in everything Hope gently pressed her lips to his and finished filling the hole in his soul. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, her lips just fluttering over his, but it was so earnest in its purity and so familiar that Jefferson felt it all the way to his toes. She nuzzled his nose softly in breaking away, just barely loosing a quiet sigh.

 

Jefferson lost himself in that moment, receding into the relief of feeling her breathe against him, of tasting her on his lips. When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him, a look that put him far into the past and wiped the time in between away like dust from a mirror.

 

"I missed you, Hope. I love you. I'm sorry about what happened, but I'm so glad you're here now."

 

She beamed at him and kissed his cheek. "I love you, too. And I'm glad to be here, finally. Better late than never, eh? Speaking of, I think we should go see our daughter. I have some catching up to do."

 

"You do. That you do. And, let me tell you," he sighed out a laugh, "I could have really benefited from you being here a few months ago." Jefferson took her empty cup to the sink. "But come on, let's get you cleaned up and dressed first."

 

Hope could get cleaned up, but she couldn't get dressed. Jefferson had no clothing in the entire house that she could wear comfortably. She rifled through his closet and wardrobes, holding things up and then putting them immediately back. Finally, rolling her eyes and sighing with exasperation, she stepped into a pair of his pants, demanded a belt and cinched them up around her waist.

 

"There. Now, a shirt and I shall be fine." She bent over and began rolling the bottom of the legs until they were cuffed at her ankle. "Strange fabrics here."

 

Jefferson handed her a button down shirt and stood back as she did it up and rolled the sleeves as well. "It doesn't look half bad," he decided.

 

Hope scoffed, "I look ridiculous, but it will do. Shoes?"

 

He shook his head. "Mine'll be far too big."

 

"Then I shall go in stockings alone."

 

"Socks, but yes." He tossed her a pair and then reached for one of his scarfs, looping it over her chest. "There."

 

"Oh, that's better?"

 

"It makes your lovely breasts a little less noticeable to others, yes."

 

"Hmm, yes. Wouldn't want that would we?"

 

Jefferson side-stepped what was surely a trap and changed the subject slightly. "We'll borrow you some clothing tonight and then buy you your own tomorrow."

 

"I should say so, you seem to have enough money to buy everything. Did you make any of this?"

 

"You don't really… people don't make things with their hands in this world."

 

"I can see that. Very well. I'm ready. Let's go." Hope smoothed the bottom of his shirt down over her hips and nodded. It looked so odd, with her in modern clothing, but it was a very old, very familiar gesture.

 

Hope was confounded by riding in the car despite having already been driven to Jefferson's house in Emma's bug. She had so many questions that Jefferson could only partially answer. Eventually she gave up and announced she would be reading up on them for herself. The diner had a few more people in it than Jefferson would have wanted. He had planned on gently easing Hope into this community, but that wasn't going to happen, not with everyone staring at her like the newcomer she was and then swarming her when they figured out just who she was. Hope handled it with her usual quirky grace. Jefferson stood back and let her take care of it.

 

"She's incredible, Jefferson."

 

He hopped in surprise, stopped trying to maneuver Hope through the small crowd and to the table with their daughter. It was Ruby leaning over the counter.

 

"That's why you've been playing hard to get."

 

"Playing hard to get?"

 

"Yeah. I've never had to flirt so hard in my life. You were holding out for her, weren't you?"

 

"Yes. Yes, I was."

 

"That is so sweet. And too bad for me." Ruby winked and then stood up. "Okay, you vultures, why don't you give the lady some space so she can have some family time. Gosh."

 

The few diners scattered and left Hope grinning appreciatively at Ruby. "Thanks."

 

"Sure thing. I like the hubby-wear look, but if you decide you want to pick out some new clothes, I'm an excellent shopper."

 

"Oh, thank you. That's very kind. Oh, hello, darling!" Hope gave Ruby another smile before allowing Grace to tug her over to the booth she'd been at. Jefferson followed slowly, enjoying watching his daughter and wife interact again at long last.

 

Emma and Killian scooted out of the booth, dragging Henry with them as Grace sat Hope down. They were already deep in conversation and hardly noticed the absence of the others.

 

"She looks better, Jefferson. Did you… clear everything up?" Emma leaned against the counter beside him as the kid and the pirate sat on her other side.

 

"I did. Everything."

 

"You told her everything?"

 

"Every single thing and I feel much better for it."

 

"Wow. She handled that well."

  
  
"Hope is an incredible person," Jefferson said through a smile that he couldn't hold back. "She's the only reason I am who I am on good days."

 

"I can see that. I mean… I didn't know you could even smile like that."

 

Jefferson glanced over at her and then immediately back to his family. "I think I may have forgotten how."

 

Emma grew quiet after that. The sound of Hope and Grace chattering blended with Killian and Henry laughing and enveloped Jefferson and Emma. After a few minutes of that, she spoke again.

 

"I think I understand that."

 

"Happy with your son and pirate?" Jefferson asked as Grace burst into bubbling laughter.

 

"I am. Thanks."

 

"Thank _you_."

 

"Papa, you used to be a thief?!" Grace squealed in disbelieving amusement. "But you're so boring!"

 

Jefferson jumped and turned to find Grace staring up at him with a wicked smile on her face.

 

"In a manner of speaking."  
 

"No, he was professional thief and acquirer for Rumpelstiltskin, don't let him smooth-talk your belief otherwise." Hope smirked at him and put her arm around Grace. "It seems there's a great deal Papa has neglected to tell you so far. I look forward to disclosing all of it, my darling. Water only." She pushed the girl towards Ruby at the end of the bar. "Ms. Swan, a pleasure to meet you, and thank you."

 

Emma took her hand. "You're welcome. I'm just glad I could help."

 

"I must apologize for my husband, however, assuming he already has but did a poor job of it. He can be a little… intense."

 

"Oh. Uh… no apologies necessary, he apologized a while ago."

 

Hope was grinning at him, eyes bright like she knew something he didn't. She brushed the hair back off his face and then turned smartly to Emma. "And thank you for taking care of him in spite of all that."

 

She smiled warmly at Emma and, ruffling Jefferson's hair one more time, skipped off to join Grace.

 

"God… she is… something else. I kind of love her," Emma muttered as they both watched her go. "She's so… _sincere_ and Grace is just like her. She balances you."

 

"Thank god for that. We saw what happens when I'm off kilter," Jefferson joked and then sighed deeply. "Okay, I think it's time I took them home. It's been a long day and we have another ahead of us tomorrow. She needs clothes, all new clothes."  
 

"Yeah, I saw the outfit. It's kind of cute on her, but I made some calls. Belle's about her size and is bringing around a few things she thought might be comfortable for her until she can pick out her own stuff. She'll be here in a few minutes if you could stay 'til then."

 

"Of course, thank you. Uh… by the way, I'll have to run this by Hope but I doubt she'll be opposed. I… owe you and your family. Period. I owe you and I'd like to offer some small gesture of my thanks to you all. My house… it's huge and sadly I've never used it like I should. Um, so, I'd like to host you all for a dinner at some point. If you all want. Bring your brother and the pirate, anyone you want. We'll have drinks and Hope can help me make some truly excellent food."

 

"We'd love to, mate." The pirate leaned around Emma and grinned. "Right, Swan?"

 

"Uh… yeah, we'll be glad to. I'll tell Mary Margaret and David tomorrow. _Thanks,_ Killian."

 

"Sure, love." He sat back and returned to talking with Henry.

 

"If you don't want to--"

 

Emma chuckled. "No, that'll be great, Jefferson. We'll be there."

 

"Good. Excellent. Thank you. Let me know when you're all available and we'll plan it."

 

A family dinner with friends. Just what he'd never hoped to have. Maybe he didn't _hate_ this land.


	10. The Birds and the Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping and some family discussions help to make Storybook feel even more like a normal home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and smut. After all the angsty drama, a chapter about the birds and the bees is long overdue.

"The clothing is very strange here, Jefferson." Hope held up the very short skirt to her hips and frowned. "I don't know if I'll be comfortable wearing it. Belle looked lovely in such, but I don't think it will suit me."

 

"It will suit you, I'm sure, but if you don't like it there are other types we can get for you." Jefferson closed the bedroom door behind him and leaned against it. "She's still brimming over with energy. Emma admitted to giving her chocolate ice cream with fudge topping and sprinkles, so she'll be wound up for a while, but she's in bed now. I left her watching some show on her computer."

 

Watching some show on her computer? That sentence made no sense to Hope, but she let it be. There was a great deal she had to get used to in this new life at a new time in a new world. Everything was different. Everything but her. Jefferson was different, Grace was very different, their family was going to be different. If she dwelt on all the things that had changed, though, she would start crying. Instead, she had to focus on the fact that it was going to be exciting, like an adventure but still somewhat familiar because some things _were_ the same.

 

Grace, as much as she had grown and matured still had that brilliance to her and a sort of innocence that jarred with her cleverness. Jefferson was less changed, though what was different hurt Hope deeply. He had a hollowness behind his eyes sometimes, just an echo of what he'd been subjected to before, but it had scarred him. And that scar, it made Hope's eyes well up. She knew the terror that had preceded it, the helplessness, had seen the aftereffects. They were never good. Then there was the age.

 

He was still young, to be sure, not even near to old, but he was _older._ Admittedly, the age suited him, accentuated certain features, refined others, but the fact that Hope had missed the time that gave him that age throbbed in her chest. His eyes were still so blue they hurt, though, and soft around the corners when he looked at her. He still smiled more to the left and first with those eyes. Still had that cleft in his chin and showed his mood with the movement of his hands. Still loved her and Grace, was determined to take care of them. The important things had remained the same. Hope would just have to learn the new things until they were familiar, starting with what was in front of her and easy.  
  

"I like your hair here," she commented truthfully, and then tried fastening the new skirt at the waist. She was beginning with the basics. "Will I need to change mine?"

 

"Your hair's perfect," Jefferson answered from the closet, stepping out as he unwrapped his scarf. "Don't change your hair. Oh, see? That looks nice." He pointed at the skirt.

 

"It's an awful amount of bare skin, isn't it?" Hope fidgeted with the hem at her mid-thigh. "A strong breeze could put on quite a show with this."

 

He laughed, "I don't know about that, but I think it looks nice."

 

"Humph," she stood in front of the mirror and stared at the expanse of leg. "I feel naked."

 

"Well, you're not wearing a shirt."

 

"And I don't know how to work the undergarments."

 

"It can't be that hard, can it?" Jefferson stepped back out of the closet, now shirtless, and took the brassiere from her. "Okay… clasps in the back, straps and cups. I think it'll go like this." He slipped the straps over her arms and up her shoulders, moved the fabric until it hugged her bosom, and then fastened it in the back. "There. Fits fairly well. You might need a cup size up, though." He fondled the weight of her chest over the fabric and kissed her neck. "It's pretty on you."

 

Hope fiddled with the bottom band for a second and then reached for the shirt. At least it was mildly familiar, like a blouse, with a collar and nice lace accents. She pulled it on and tucked it into the waist of the skirt.

 

"You look stunning," Jefferson told her from the doorway. "But what do you think?"

 

"The blouse, I like. The skirt could stand to be longer. The brassiere… I'll have to get used to. Are you sure there are no corsets?"

 

"I haven't seen any. I think they're… intimate clothing now, for certain occasions, not day-to-day wear. I think."

 

"You think." Hope turned to the side and checked her appearance from another angle. "And you would know?"

 

"I can say categorically, no. No, I wouldn't know. I think." He handed her a few soft items. "Here, I _think_ you'll be comfortable with sleeping in these."

 

"Cheeky." Hope cut her eyes at him, but took the clothing. "Are these yours?"

 

"Yes. T-shirt. Boxers." He pointed to each item as he named them. "Is that okay?"

 

"Yes, you silly man." They smelled like him and yet different. He smelled a little different in this place, more spicy and less like leaves. Hope set them down and then started carefully removing Belle's clothing, leaving only the little undershorts Jefferson had bought for her on their drive home from some place called a pharmacy.

 

Jefferson watched her from the washroom doorway, brushing his teeth as she put on the other clothing. These were very comfortable but obviously not for public wear. Hope wanted to live in them though.

 

"I like you in those, too," he said with his old impish grin and then walked back to the sink. "Or without them."

 

"I could very happily always sleep in these," Hope admitted and then trotted into the washroom, joining him in washing up. "But, without them I feel like I might sleep better."

 

She'd been too busy fretting over clothing to notice properly her husband's lack thereof. The 'boxers' were quite like his shorts at home, a little tighter. He looked different in them, though. He flinched at first when she ran her fingers over his back, which sent a pang through her, but he leaned into her touch after. In the mirror, she could see him watching her look him over.

 

"Surely you don't have to cut wood here." Her hands settled on the places wood-cutting had always benefited, felt the muscles just under his skin.

 

"No. Not so much." He turned around from the sink and brushed her hair from her shoulders, leaving one strand wrapped around his finger. "There's a place here… it's called a gymnasium, people go there to exercise. I go on the days when Grace is out, at school or with friends. It keeps--kept me busy so I wasn't sat in this house alone again. That and I helped out in town some days."

 

"I think that was a good choice." Hope touched his chest, his stomach, surprised she hadn't noticed before. This difference she could embrace. Literally. "Yes, I can confidently say it was an excellent choice."

 

She was flushed, biting her lip. She might not have remembered being asleep for three decades, but her body seemed to feel the long absence of touch, was suddenly ardently keen to rectify that.

 

"I'll keep it up if you like it." Jefferson's voice stirred her from a long, lusting reverie of drinking in his body with her fingertips.

 

He was breathing deeply and quickly, stomach rising and falling under her palm in little heaves. Looking up, Hope found that look in his eyes that made her breathless, that channeled all his fervent passion and energy into something quiet and intense that enveloped her, centered on her like she was the only thing he could see.

 

"Yes, I think that would be best."

 

For all that he was reacting to her touch, the flush down his neck and chest, the heaviness of his lids over barely blue eyes, the part in his lips, the bulge under the fabric of his shorts, Jefferson wasn't touching her apart from her hair. Hope assumed he was waiting for her to initiate, being considerate after all her years as a rock, and giving her the choice. So, she did so. But even when she pressed her body against his to lean up and kiss him, he refused.

 

"Hope, wait."

 

She stepped away, confused and a little offended. "Wait? Why should I wait? Haven't you doing enough waiting for the both of us?"

 

"Yes, that's true, but don't you think we should… discuss some things first?" He allowed himself one more twirl of her hair through his fingers and then leaned against the counter, no longer touching her at all.

 

"We've done a fair piece of talking this evening, Jefferson, but we've not yet lain as man and wife again. I would really like to do that now, please."

 

"Of course, yes, I… yes. I would like to that as well, but don't you want me to… wouldn't it be better if I apologized for and explained, properly, what happened with Emma Swan first so there's… nothing festering there?"

 

"Festering? What? Why would I want to talk about what you did with Emma? That's not exactly romantic."

 

"No, what I mean is that we should clear the air about it before… we're intimate again. I don't want you… resenting or… wondering--"

 

Hope laughed, "are you worried that I'm jealous or… or… _stewing_ over what you did with her, how you touched and looked at her? I'm not. Stop feeling guilty, Jefferson. You were in no way doing anything wrong."

 

"Yes, but I need you to know that--"

 

"My love," Hope smiled at the fluster in his voice, the wrinkle of worry above his brow. "My dear Jefferson, I know you had women before me," she slipped the boxers from her hips and to the floor, "but you _married_ me. And I know you had her after me," she pulled off the shirt and tossed it aside as well, "but I'm _here_ now, I'm the one who was wearing your clothes, in your bedroom."

 

Bare of his clothes, she took a step closer and locked her eyes on him, watched him watch her as she skimmed her nails over her own chest and stomach.

 

"I saw how you looked at her, but you didn't look at her the way you look at me. I'm not worried. And she's lovely, she is, but…" another step closer and she took his hands in hers, "Jefferson, I _know_ you." Putting his hands on her waist she dragged them down the curve of her hips, around to her bum then back up to rest cupping her breasts. "I know what you like." She couldn't help but smile smugly when he licked his lips.

 

His hands felt so gratifying on her skin, trailing across her, just calloused enough to be rough but not abrasive. More satisfying still was the way he was gravitating towards her, clearly yearning to touch her more.

 

"Yes, you do." Hs voice was rough and deeper. "You're right. Okay. So, it may not be an issue for you, but there is _an_ issue."

 

"Oh? What's that?"

 

"Grace is right down the hall. And awake."

 

"Then, we'll just have to wait. Quietly. I doubt it'll be long, though, with the amount of sugar she ate, she'll be crashing soon. In fact," Hope bent over and picked up Jefferson's clothes and pulled them back on, "I'll go check right now."

 

Sure enough when Hope peeked into Grace's room, she found their daughter passed out with that computer thing on the bed beside her flashing lights and playing sounds still.

 

"Out like a light," she informed Jefferson when she stepped back into their room. "That computer thing was still doing things, uh, showing a show but she was dead asleep."

 

Hope bounced down onto the bed next to him and then swung a leg over to straddle his lap. "We haven't had our honeymoon, Jefferson. We've been married for thirty five years and only ever had our wedding night together. That's unfair, don't you think?"

 

"Mmm, that it is." He hitched her hips higher to clasp around his. "And, now, you're _sure_ she's asleep."

 

Hope pulled him back to her, kissing down his ear. "Yes, asleep. Drooling, snoring a little. Very asleep."

 

"I'm locking the door."

 

Hope sighed loudly as he dropped her onto the bed and hurried to lock the door.

 

"She's old enough now, she knows about these things. If she were to walk in here while… it would scar her permanently."

 

"And just why do you think she knows about these things? You certainly haven't spoken to her about it, I'm sure."

 

Jefferson stopped, looked at Hope with all seriousness. "The schools here teach a class about it. She came home with a booklet. It was very detailed."

 

"Oh. Well. I'm glad we're discussing this right now." She wasn't actually. She was really not happy they were talking about their thirteen year old daughter and her newfound knowledge of sex. It was spoiling the mood. In fact, Jefferson looked like it had already spoiled the mood. Hope stifled a second sigh and scooted over to stroke his hair.

 

"You've been a father and just a father for a long while now, so I understand you're having trouble switching roles. But, if you recall, you weren't always just a father, you were also a man, my man for five years after becoming a father, all at the same time. You can be both, and you don't have to feel guilty about it." She cupped his chin and drew him to face her. "Oh! This guilt, Jefferson! You don't deserve it, you need not have it. Please, let it go. Let it resolve."

 

His eyes were reddened around the edge, made extra blue as he welled up. "Ah… I'm sorry, Hope."

 

"You silly man. Come here. You needn't apologize to me any more either. Just talk to me."

 

He scoffed into her hair and then held her away. "I've always talked to you Hope, even when you weren't here."

 

"Good. Just keep that up, tell me what's wrong and we'll get through it together. Now, why don't you want to sleep with me?"

 

"Oh, I do. I've thought about being with you again for years."

 

Hope bit her lip and then continued. "Okay, so why don't you? What's stopping you?"

 

"I just… I keep worrying."

 

"Mm-hmm. Yes, you do. Why?"

 

"I… I don't want to mess things up by acting rashly. Actions have consequences, all of them."

 

"Jefferson," Hope said gently, waited until he looked at her. "I'm back now. I'm here with you. You don't have to weigh every single choice without fail. I can help, we'll share those judgments. Okay?"

 

Jefferson closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he looked back at her, Hope saw his eyes had cleared. "I missed you."

 

"I know, but you don't need to anymore. I'm here. Touch me." She brought his hands back to her chest, pressed them over her heart. "Feel me."

 

His hands lingered there, catching her heart beat in his palm, then moved to fondle her breasts. "I've _missed_ you."

 

"Mmm. Now, you've told me. So, show me."

 

She watched his mouth when he responded, how he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip as he leaned over her, how the corner of his mouth curled just a fraction right before he caught her lips between his. She had kissed him earlier, but that had been a sweet press of affection, laced with fondness, care and devotion, the tenderness of their emotional relationship. This was the other side of that coin: passionate, yearning, hot, desirous and physical.

 

Jefferson didn't hesitate to show her how he'd missed her once his tongue found her lips. She hadn't forgotten the size of him, but again she felt the length of time it had been since they'd been together as she lay beneath him, supporting the weight of his hips on hers, being enfolded under his chest. He kissed her for longer than she could tell, pinned to the bed, basking in his warmth and pressure, the fervor of each of his caresses.

 

She could hardly breathe when he pulled her upright and ripped the shirt from her shoulders. Her lips felt raw and bruised and she loved it. His were red and shining, and so full. Before he could strip her further she kissed those lips of his and twisted herself around him, made him moan. Caught between her teeth they tasted even better than they looked, like mint and lust. She wanted them elsewhere.

 

"Wait," she breathed against his mouth as he sought her again.

 

He waited, leaning away and raking his eyes over her until she grabbed his chin and led it to her breast. They both shuddered when he took her nipple in his mouth, Jefferson humming and grasping the swell of her breast, Hope sighing at the tingle of pleasure from his tongue. She arched her back to the absence, keened quietly as he found the other, a little louder as his hands traveled old, familiar pathways. However long it had been for him since Jefferson had mapped Hope's body, he remembered it precisely, had memorized it to the inch.

 

With a gentle tug, the boxers were at her knees, the undershorts followed. He swept her off the bed and then onto her back again in two fluid motions. Almost in a blink she was naked, his mouth following his fingers. But Hope wanted to see him. She drew a finger up his neck to rest below his chin and still him before he could nuzzle between her legs.

 

"No? Really?"

 

"You're the one who's been waiting, my love. Besides, I can't look at you when your mouth's down there." Sat up on her elbows, she slipped a toe under the waist of his boxers and nudged them down.

 

Jefferson smiled all crookedly and stood so she could properly reach him. Following the path of his hip bone she dragged her fingers down and dropped the shorts to his feet. Her tongue then followed the same path before finding a new one and making him gasp. He was hard and hot under her hand, hotter and velvety under her tongue. His hands in her hair, Hope used her tongue, her lips to make him groan and arch. The sounds coming from him, the roughness of his hands against her scalp only made her keener, but Jefferson pulled her away after only a few thrusts.

 

"Wait," he gasped, but Hope wasn't listening, and his willpower wasn't enough to stop her. Watching his body urge towards her, angles and hard sweeping lines fighting to fall into her and pull away at the same time set a fire in the pit of her stomach. Determined to see him melt around her, she undid him in a matter of moments, smiling as he lost control.

 

"What--you--why?" He leaned hard against the bedpost, panting.

 

Hope shrugged, "like I said, my love, you're the one who's been waiting. I can wait a few extra minutes after you've waited years." She grinned and then kissed up his torso. He tasted of salt and need.

 

Flushed and breathing hard, Jefferson resumed his tour of her body, kneading his palms into the softness of her, dragging his fingers across her planes, sinking their tips into the curves and ghosting them over the film of skin on her hip and collarbones, her spine and tailbone. All while he held her eye and peppered the intermittent kiss over her face, jaw, and neck. The look in his eyes almost brought Hope to tears. In it she could see the long years of loneliness and pining, but she could also see his relief and bliss at the end of that suffering. He had looked at her many ways since they found solace in each other, since they fell in love, but never quite like this. It was nearly laughable that not half an hour earlier he'd been concerned that she was fretting over her singular reception of his adoration. Not even close when he could look at her like that.

 

It also had a fire behind it that she soon found against her stomach. Pressing him to her, hands clinging to his ass, she tilted her head up and kissed the little dip in his chin she loved so much. "Are you ready?"

 

He answered by lifting her to his waist and then dropping the both of them onto the bed. He lay there gazing at her then, just centimeters away from being inside of her. The waiting was maddening. Hope braced her hands on his shoulders and then hitched her hips up, urging him on. Jefferson still kept just enough space between them, though. Instead, he ran a hand over the most sensitive stretches of skin below her navel, around the nook of her hips and then finally to her heat, leaving a few lazy circles that made her mewl.

 

"You are," he rumbled with more than some satisfaction and then pushed inside of her.

 

Hope moaned deep in her throat, Jefferson covering her mouth too late.

 

"Shh," he hissed, smiling languidly, and then proceeded to circle his hips and made her moan even louder. "You have to be quiet," he said into her ear as he rocked hard and slow and deep. She had to bite down into her lip to keep from keening again, enjoying the way that made his eyes darken. That smug, feisty smirk still in place Jefferson kept mercilessly to that toe-curling rhythm, waiting until Hope bowed beneath him to kiss her hard and swallow the moans of her release.

 

"You weren't very quiet," he half-growled picking up his pace and switching to controlled, shallow ruts.

 

Hope was still resurfacing, arched her back as he rode her through the waves. "You didn't really want me to be," she finally managed, "or you wouldn't have persisted as you did."

 

"No. S'ppose. Not," Jefferson panted, lip curling as he fought harder to keep breathing.

 

Hope reached past his shoulders, felt his body slip over her, flexing and straining. Silencing an appreciative groan, she simply grinned when he hitched under her fingers. Jefferson mumbled something unintelligible and then let slip a strained, stuttering moan. She raked her nails through his hair and down his back as he thrust a few more times into her. It was with an even louder groan that he finally sagged heavily onto her.

 

"You weren't quiet either," she whispered and gave him a pant on the bottom once he'd stopped panting.

 

"I missed you," he responded weakly and Hope giggled.

 

"Let's just hope that she's a really deep sleeper. Hmm?"

 

"Yes, let's." Jefferson batted blindly for his nightstand until he found the lamp. With the light out, he rolled off of her and onto his side. She was scooped into the nook of his body in no time and held there tightly. And that was how they fell asleep that night, entangled in each other as if they'd never been apart.

 

* * *

 

  
When Jefferson awoke the next morning he mistook it for an Enchanted Forest sunrise. And he had good reason to. Hope was humming quietly, threading her fingers through his hair and looking out the window, its curtains thrown wide open. It didn't bother him in the least that it was a different sun peeking out through the trees. He had everything that he wanted there now. Hope convinced him with little effort to have some languorous sex in the shower, which she found to be wonderful place for several reasons. Satisfied, showered, and dressed, they emerged as the sun was reaching the tops of the trees.

 

"Shh, shh," Jefferson poked his head out their bedroom door and looked down the hall. "Her door's closed, she's probably still asleep."

 

Hope stifled another giggle push him out the door by his ass. "Go then! I'm famished."

 

They tiptoed down the stairs, hands grazing and exchanging quiet smiles. Jefferson felt like they were twenty again, sneaking off for a furtive groping behind the nearest shop in some other land. They stopped short in the doorway of the kitchen, finding Grace seated at the bar, eating cereal in her pajamas.

 

"Good morning, Mama, Papa," she chimed sweetly, smiling at them both.

 

"Grace, baby, what are you doing up already?" Hope swept around her, still not able to stop smiling, but putting on her old, mother hen tone as she tidied up the cereal crumbs and put away its box and the milk.

 

Grace shrugged, "not sleepy. There was a bird singing. I felt like I should be up, too."

 

"It's a good thing you are. After you're done eating you need to run upstairs and get dressed. We have a big day of getting your mama clothes ahead of us."

 

"Sounds fun! Can I get some new sweaters? Mine are short in the sleeves."

 

"Of course, baby," Jefferson and Hope answered together, making Grace smile hugely.

 

She hopped up and hugged Hope on the way to the sink with her bowl. "I'm glad you're back, Mama." She elbowed Jefferson on the way out of the kitchen and then trotted up the stairs.

 

"Was… was that odd?" Hope asked.

 

"Uh, yes. I think she's just relieved I'm not alone. She'd been really set on getting me to date again for a while there. I must have been getting crabby or something."

 

"That, or she's a young adult who is beginning to understand how things work while being intuitive naturally." Hope tapped her nails on the counter exactly five times and then reached for the kettle. "She knows."

 

"What?" Jefferson turned quickly to her. "No. She can't. She would have… Can she?"

 

"I think so. The big smile when we came down, the bigger one when we spoke in unison, that little conspiratorial elbow on the way out. She thinks she knows something secret, at least."

 

"Oh, hell," Jefferson sighed and put away the eggs he was about to cook. "I'll go check to make sure she doesn't have that booklet out."

 

Hope laid a hand on his arm. "Let her be, Jefferson. If she does, she does. We'll deal with it when she brings it up, otherwise, I say we leave it alone. No use in stirring the pot." She put the kettle on the stove and then squinted at the range. "Right. How does this work?"

 

The two of them danced around each other, making breakfast and tea, leaning into the accidental fondle or two, even indulging in a spontaneous kiss as they sat down to eat. Jefferson couldn't help himself. She was irresistibly sunny. He was high on his change in fortune. Both were basking in the afterglow of their love.

 

"Mmm, you've gotten really good at this, my love. I'll not have to cook every meal anymore." Hope winked and took another bite of omelet. "I like the idea of folding it all together. What's it called again?"

 

"An omelet. Oh, and speaking of cooking, what do think about our hosting a thank you dinner for Emma Swan and Henry and their family? We have this huge house and all this… stuff, and I owe them."

 

Hope nodded. "That, Jefferson, I believe to be an excellent idea, a lovely gesture. And, it'll give me the chance to get to know them better now that I'm not in shock." She placed her thumb on his chin and pulled him to her, kissing him chastely -- for them -- before skipping to put her dishes in the sink. "Now, I am ready to have my own clothing. Grace! Come on, darling!" She called up with her head out of the kitchen, leaning back in, hands on her hips.  "I say we proceed to these shops presently."

 

Jefferson actually found the whole shopping event enjoyable. There were times when he found himself exasperated or restless, when Hope was being more stubborn than usual about something, or wouldn't listen to his opinion, but overall it made for a good first family outing. Grace seemed to really revel in dressing her mother up, she picked out many, many pieces and put them together into outfits, insisting that Hope put them on as she directed. Quite a lot of the time Hope ended up agreeing with her, even if only after a few prods from Jefferson or a roiling speech about the pairings' merits from Grace. In between, when Hope's fingers were sore from zipping things or fastening tiny hooks, she would let Grace haul her to the girls' section and comment on their daughter's selections. Jefferson tagged along, sitting with his arm around Hope and offering largely unwanted and unappreciated commentary. But when it was Hope trying things on, she consistently listened to his opinions even if she ended up disagreeing with them.

 

"It's called an ascot, Ms. Schreiber says, and I think it's lovely." Hope looked over her shoulder at Jefferson and then back at the mirror. "And such vibrant colors! It's like a garden on a piece of silk."

 

"I don't think you need it."

 

"And I don't think you need your neckties but you continue to wear them," she snapped back, reaching up defensively to the fabric on her neck.

 

Jefferson shared a glance with Grace. "No. I don't mean that." He stood and walked up behind her, sweeping all her long, waving hair over onto the front of her shoulders. "What I mean is, I don't think you need _it._ Your hair covers it anyway. When you wear it down, you'll never see the ascot."

 

Hope eyed him in the mirror. "I'm still getting it."

 

"That's fine," he sighed, chin resting on her head. "It'll look pretty with that… what was it called, Grace?"

 

"Blazer."

 

"Right blazer." He ran his fingers through her hair again and then sat back down. "Remind me again, baby. Why does your mama need a blazer?"

 

"For business events. Obviously."

 

"Oh, yes. Obviously."

 

"You wear suit jackets all the time, Papa, and you don't even work. Mama, you're going to apply for a teacher's position at the school, right? I think you'll really like it there."

 

"We'll see, baby. Okay. What's next?"

 

"Dresses!" Grace announced happily and ran to the clothing stand she and her mother had filled to the very edge. "You have a lot of skirts and shirts and pants and shorts, but we haven't tried dresses yet. I think you'll like these best, Mama. They're more like home, kind of."

 

Hope followed their daughter obediently, helping to carry the simply innumerable garments Grace had loaded into their arms.

 

"Stay put, Papa," Grace ordered over her shoulder.

 

"I wouldn't think of moving."

 

Jefferson surveyed the dress trials, watching Hope light up when a certain one fell just the right way or was reminiscent of home's styles. She was much more enthusiastic about them in general, clearly felt more comfortable with a piece of clothing she knew how to wear. The shorter ones she shied from but admitted to liking the coolness they would provide in the heat. What she was most drawn to were the longer, more modest, professional frocks that Grace pointed out would be perfect with a sweater to teach in. Hope humored Grace but Jefferson could tell she was hesitant to get involved in this world. That would take time.

 

"Okay, Papa. Close your eyes."

 

Looking away from the mulling pout on Hope's face, he responded in surprise to Grace. "Close my eyes?"

 

"Yes. This next one's a surprise."

 

"Alright. Eyes closed."

 

"Ready? You can open them now," Grace said a few moments later.

 

Their daughter had an eye for clothing, she also had a hand for showmanship. Jefferson felt he'd opened his eyes to the sunrise as he blinked to focus on Hope. She was a picture of the past, all buttercream and grins. Grace manifestly still remembered her fifth birthday party with remarkable detail, because this surprise dress she'd found for her mother was a dead ringer for the one she'd worn that day, as they came in this land.

 

"Wow," he breathed. Hope looked stunning. Simply stunning.

 

"She looks gorgeous, doesn't she, Papa? Like a princess." Grace had been watching his face, skipped over to sit beside him and admire Hope together.

 

"That she does, my dear Grace. That she does. Absolutely, devastatingly stunning. You're very good at this, aren't you? And you remember more than you let on." He ruffled her hair, eyes still on his wife.

 

"Maybe…" Grace replied with a giggle and then hopped back to her feet. "And look at the patterns! Little purple swirls like you used to have on your hats. Remember, Papa?"

 

"I do, darling," Jefferson answered, standing and taking Hope's hand in his, spinning her slowly to get the full effect. "You look ravishing," he whispered in her ear. "Pure sunshine."

 

Grace took his other hand gently, tugged until he stepped away and left Hope glowing in front of the mirror. "Come on, Papa. I want to get a picture of Mama. Now my friends will believe she's from Wonderland."

 

Grace pulled out the camera she'd gotten a little while before, and which she was beginning to show real skill with, and shooed Jefferson even farther back. Hope smiled at her when told to pose and then grinned her adoration at Jefferson. He jumped after the flash went off in his face suddenly.

 

"Got it," Grace crowed and then went back to instructing Hope for the perfect pose, finally taking the photograph and dismissing her mother back behind the dressing curtain. She sauntered over to where Jefferson had sat and perched beside him. Leaning against him until he put his arm around her, she pulled up the picture she'd just taken.

 

"I think it's perfect," she said proudly holding up a full-length one of Hope. She was right, it captured Hope completely, the background paled to her as if she were radiating the light, caught her just as she was beginning to smile, when it had brought the shine to her eyes but only just curled the corners of her lips.

 

"It truly is," Jefferson finally said, looking up to find Grace studying him again. She had that same curl to her lips as her mother did in the photograph. "What are you grinning at, little bird?"

 

She shrugged and fiddled with her camera. "You're happy again, Papa."

 

"What? I've been happy, my dear Grace. How couldn't I be with you, hmm?"

 

"No," she laughed and elbowed him, handing him the camera, a new picture on the screen. "I mean _really_ happy."

 

Jefferson was almost startled by the photo of him, almost didn't recognize himself.

 

"That's the way you look at Mama," Grace said, pointing to his eyes, "that's really happy, Papa. I want someone to look at me the way you look at Mama someday," she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "She really is your one true love."

 

"Without a doubt, sweetheart, without a doubt. You and her both. You're my whole world." Camera back in her hands, Jefferson hugged Grace to her. He kissed the top of her head not worrying if he was embarrassing her. "My whole world."

 

By the end of it Jefferson was honestly a little concerned that, not only would he finally find the bottom of his limitless credit, but that it would be impossible to get all of the shopping back to their house and properly store it. Sure, his closet was bigger than his and Grace's hovel in the Enchanted Forest, but Hope and Grace had collectively bought more than they could physically carry with his help. The shop attendants were giddy at the register, and they had good reason. 'The Milliner family' had just paid their commission for the entire year in one stop. But he didn't max that card out, and they did eventually get all the bags to their car though they had to drive with them in their laps. And the closet was big enough, but only just barely. Hope had surprisingly ended up with mostly with skirts and blouses, meaning that while she had, as Grace pointed out, a ton of outfit options there weren't as many actual pieces of clothing.

 

The two of them were in their closet, rearranging and hanging things up when the phone rang. Hope told him firmly that she would stay there, he could deal with the magic talking handle thing. Technology would take her the longest to adjust to it seemed. So, Jefferson jogged across the room and picked up the receiver.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Hi, Jefferson. Emma."

 

"Good afternoon, Sheriff. Have a consensus on the dinner?" He put his hand over the mouthpiece and waved at Hope. She was about to knock over a towering pile of shoeboxes onto her head from the shelf. "I'm sorry, say that again, please."

 

"We're all in for this weekend," Emma repeated. "Mary Margaret and David prefer Saturday night, does that work?"

 

"That's great, I'll--oh, can you hold on a second?" He tossed the phone onto the bed and ran to a cackling Hope, currently flat on her ass with shoes and boxes scattered around her.

 

"I just wanted to fit one more up there!"

 

"You can't reach," he scoffed and helped her to her feet, checking to see if she was alright. "Tsch, you cut your cheek."

 

"Those heels are surprisingly sharp."

 

"Yeah, here--" he reached for a tissue but Hope batted him away.

 

"Go. Talk. I'm a grown woman, I can clean a cut." She gave him a shove and then pointed to the phone. "Honestly. As if I were a helpless porcelain doll."

 

Jefferson rolled his eyes. "Emma? You still there? My wife almost buried herself in a pile of shoes."

 

"Oh. Sounds fun. Yeah, Saturday night, maybe around seven? I mean, Neal might get fussy, but I imagine you're no stranger to that."

 

"Not at all. So, we'll expect you at seven on Saturday. Uh… what? Five of you?"

 

"Yeah, six if you count Neal, but he can't eat food yet, so… yeah."

 

"Anything we shouldn't make? Henry a picky eater?" He whipped around as Hope gasped and then relaxed. She was wincing with a cotton ball to her cheek, just reacting to the alcohol in her scrape. "We haven't decided what we're making yet, but we were thinking something from home. Maybe some rustic stuff…"

 

"No, Henry'll eat just about anything. And a lot of it. Thanks."

 

Jefferson hung up the phone a few cordialities later and joined Hope in the bathroom. She'd gotten the cut to stop bleeding and was frowning at it in the mirror.

 

"That's not going to be pretty," she pouted.

 

"Ah, you can hardly see it." He ran his thumb just under it and then kissed beside it. "I need you to be more careful, though, please? I'm not losing you again."

 

Hope scoffed, "you're not going to lose me to an avalanche of shoes, Jefferson."

 

"No, I know, I just mean, in general. I need you."

 

She took his face in her hands. "I know. You're simply lost without me." With a pat on his cheek she turned away, not knowing the truth to her tease, and started picking up the shoes.

 

Jefferson squatted down to help. "I was thinking, things are a little different here. Doctors are… actually equipped for things without magic, and I know that you slept well last night, but perhaps it would be a good idea to have someone examine you, make sure you're healthy."

 

"You mean not prone to fall asleep in inconvenient places?"

 

"That and… other things." He grimaced when Hope's face fell and her hand moved to her stomach. "After all, you did just spend quite a bit of time as a rock… it would be a sound precaution, I think."

 

Hope smiled, but sadly, at his feeble attempt to recover the mood. "Yes, I suppose so."

 

"I'll call now." With the shoes all collected and stowed away, Jefferson left Hope to fiddle stubbornly with the cut on her face and went downstairs instead to make the call.

 

"I've scheduled us for tomorrow morning. The nurse suggested two separate appointments, one with Whale, which I'm not happy about but he's more competent here, the other with Dr. Crane, and Grace'll have a check-up, too. She has some shots due or something."

 

Hope nodded as he reported back to her, almost walking into him as she climbed down the stairs, Belle's clothing in one hand, a note in the other. "Fine, fine. Good. How does one 'text' someone? Hmm?"

 

She looked up, almost standing on top of him. Jefferson chuckled at the confusion on her face and took the handwritten note from her.

 

"Belle told me I could keep the clothing as long as I wanted but that when I wanted to return it, I could let her know with this. But this is just a note with 'Text me' and a bunch of numbers. I'm confused. Help me."

 

"It's a telephone number, there. And texting is like writing a letter on the phone but delivered much faster." Jefferson jogged down the steps and found his phone, typing in Belle's number. "See? You enter the number, like you're addressing the letter, and then you type in what you want to say."

 

Hope considered him then the phone then him again, finally taking it from him and glaring at the screen.

 

"You just tap the little letters," he reached to show her but she smacked him.

  
"I can do it… I think. But in any case, you have to let me try otherwise I'll… never… learn… myself. There! See?" She showed him the screen, proud grin accompanying. She'd managed to address 'Belle' and a comma. Jefferson considered telling her about texting etiquette but then didn't. She'd learn on her own, as she'd just said.

 

"Grace?" He called up the stairs. "You dressed for the woods?"

  
  
"Just waiting for my camera to charge!"

 

"Oh!" Jefferson snapped and jogged up the rest of the stairs. "While you're working on that…" Darting into his studio, he fished out the two herbalist companions from the drawer and then took Hope's map in its frame from the wall. She was still entirely focused on tapping the screen, tongue peeking out from her lips, when he returned. "Look at what Rumpelstiltskin saved from the curse."

 

Hope didn't look up straight away, but when she did it was worth it. "Oh, Jefferson! Our magic map! The book! How lovely…" She tucked the phone into his hand and started turning the book over, inspecting it, staring at the map behind its glass. "Is… is there anything else? Anything else that was saved?"

 

She ran a thumb over her ring finger and Jefferson's heart dropped. She had come into this world without anything. Although a word hadn't been spoken of it, Jefferson had noticed her worrying the empty space on her finger.

 

"No, Hope. I'm sorry. Your ring's not here."

 

Holding the book to her chest she sighed, "as I suspected. But yours is, that's good."

 

One of the first things he'd done the night before had been to move her father's ring from his right hand back to its place on his left. Jefferson looked down at it now and nodded. "Rumpelstiltskin saved it, too, and my top hat, the blue one. Don't worry, Hope. I'll make you another one."

 

She offered him a sad grin in return and nodded, but didn't respond. Instead, she tucked the books under arm and marched down the stairs with the map. Heading for the kitchen, she took down one of the dozen of meaningless frames filling the walls of the house and replaced it with the map. Happy with its hanging, she stood back and simply looked at it. Jefferson joined her, taking her around the waist. She was crying very quietly but seemed determined not to let it show, so he didn't mention it or move to stop it.

 

"You filled in some things. Your lettering improved."

 

Jefferson looked at the few words he'd added before he and Grace had had to move. "I couldn't let it go out of date. You would have hated that."

 

"I would have." She reached up and wiped her eyes, then leaned back into his chest. "Good job. Now. Shall we drag Grace out of her room? I'm very eager to explore the woods here."

 

Grace soon scampered down the stairs of her own accord, sundress fluttering around her and camera in her hand. They headed out to the woods, Grace taking pictures of everything, jumping and chattering and occasionally grabbing Jefferson's arm or her mother's. Once she even took both their hands and walked between them. Jefferson felt like he was floating.

 

A few minutes later, nose still in her book but obviously paying attention elsewhere Hope asked him curiously, "what are you grinning like the Cat for?"

 

Making sure Grace couldn't hear him, literally up a tree and snapping pictures as she was, he stooped down over the bush Hope was studying. "Not two weeks ago she was pushing me away. Well, not pushing me away, but she wouldn't have done that, held my hand. She's getting older, I know, she doesn't want to hang around with her Papa any more, she wants to go out and be with her friends, with boys." He still physically gagged at the idea of it, but continued, "though now, you've come back and suddenly she's okay with me again. I'm not embarrassing her anymore. It's wonderful."

 

"Yes, because you're _horribly_ embarrassing," Hope snorted and set down her book to meet his eye. "Handsome, kind father like you. You must have mortified her time and again."

 

Hope's melodious giggle wafted around him when he stared at her in confusion.

 

"You don't see it, do you? She's not embarrassed by you, she's uncomfortable because she's reached the age when… boys are a big deal. Her friends have probably embarrassed her by mentioning that you are attractive, her father. Can you imagine how mortifying? If some lad had told you your mother was pretty at her age? Or worse, she's noticed how older women look at you and knows why. Holding hands are what girls and boys do when they're affectionate, like those women who looked at you would do in her mind. Undoubtedly, she didn't want to do that with her father. Especially not if the other girls have teased her about you."

 

"Tease?" Jefferson was certainly mortified.

 

"Maybe not tease maliciously, but I remember being her age, and having friends with good-looking fathers. There was a great deal of giggling going on and discomfort on their part, those poor girls." She batted her lashes at him, still amused by his reaction. Leaning over, ostensibly to pluck a branch from behind him, she whispered, "and you're much more captivating than they were. Those poor girls are probably giddy over you."

 

"Oh, god, the sleepovers," he muttered, thinking back to them, the last one, the most recent one he and Grace had hosted had almost immediately preceded her change in behavior. "No wonder she didn't want to have them here anymore."

 

"Yes, little parties with her friends staying the night, giggling about her father? You'd become a little distant, too. But now, I'm here. You're not an _available,_ desirable father anymore, so some of the teasing will stop and the looks from older women will for the most part. She'll probably not be as clinging as before, but she won't push you away, not for that reason." Hope tucked a few springs into the little cloth sack Jefferson used for gathering, patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry."

 

"But, surely there must have been something else. I'm not--"

 

"Jefferson," she looked up under her lashes at him, mouth pursed into a heart. "My love, don't be silly. You are. If I didn't know for sure, if you didn't look at me the way you do, I would be terribly jealous woman. That's part of the reason I was so surprised at first that you made it as long as you did alone. I thought you would have been fighting them off with stick. That chin dimple alone." She tapped him in said dimple and then stood up.

 

"Those poor besotted girls," she chuckled, shaking her head. "You'll probably always send them into a tizzy when you leave the room, but at least now Grace might be comfortable having them back over at the house. I can be there as a buffer. You just simply mustn't walk about in your nightclothes."

 

"I didn't… I wore a robe. I'm not insensitive to these things. Grace had just… brought home that… booklet. No, I'm an idiot. I'm an oblivious idiot." Jefferson rubbed his face hard as Hope cackled. "How horrible."

 

"No, it's growing up. And that first crush is fun. Undoubtedly you've made those first awkward and confusing months of becoming a woman un-confusing in one regard for those girls, and exciting."

 

"Ugh. Stop, please. Stop teasing me about it. I don't want to think about it anymore."

 

"Oh, but you're such a sexy father…"

 

"No. Shush, please. Hope, shh. And no wonder Grace was so adamant about that boy, Pinocchio."

 

"Yes, she had to have a fancy, too."

 

"Ugh… poor, poor Grace," Jefferson said, looking up into the trees from between his fingers. "First the… other, woman... thing and now this. I'm so bungling all of a sudden."

 

"No, my love. Just new to this part. We'll all work through it together now." Hope traced up his forearm along a vein, hooked a finger into the cuff of his sleeve, pulled his arm to rest around her waist, slipped her other hand into the open collar of his shirt, grasped the fabric to pull him down to her. "And you haven't _bungled_ a thing since I've been here."

 

It wasn't a lewd kiss but it probably wasn't something they should have shared where their daughter, who was just now fumbling with sexuality and uncomfortably so, could see them.

 

"Mama! Papa! I know you love each other, but could you save it for when I'm not right here?!"

 

Jefferson leapt about a foot away from Hope, who only smiled.

 

"As you wish, dear princess. I shall not kiss your papa in front of you anymore."

 

"Thank you," Grace landed on the ground beside Hope. "Not like that at least. That was private affection in public which Mrs. Clancy says is not allowed. Look at this picture of a bird I took."

 

Hope covered a laugh behind her hand and bent over to admire the picture on Grace's camera. Jefferson, meanwhile, nearly keeled over in embarrassment.

 

"Your ears are red, my love," Hope informed him a few moments later, reaching up and tugging on one as they walked deeper into the woods.

 

"That's because his blood-pressure is up. Isn't it, Papa?" Grace couldn't have delivered the comment with more sarcasm if she were her mother.

 

"My blood-pressure definitely is high right now," Jefferson muttered, shaking his head as Hope chuckled.

 

"And right after kissing Mama, too."

 

Hope laughed harder after Grace dropped that bomb and then romped away. "She definitely knows. Looks like we're going to be having a rather uncomfortable conversation sometime soon."

 

"I don't know why you think this is funny. That conversation is going to be truly horrible. I cannot think of a worse thing to have to discuss with my daughter."

 

"You worry too much these days, Jefferson. You've already had to tell her her mother was dead and talked her through her first flux. This is going to be easy in comparison."

 

"It's the questions I'm dreading," he responded, a dull fear already snaking through him. It was going to be a very touchy situation that could become very upsetting very quickly.

 

And it was and did, particularly because it was prompted not by a carefully timed decision for a family discussion but rather by a broken window in the middle of the night and a frenzied race to all find out what had broken the window. It was branch blown off a tree, but that didn't matter. Not since Jefferson and Hope had been in the middle of their second, energetic romp of the night. The two glasses of wine, which were supposed to be calming his nerves about their wood excursion revelations, had turned into a few more and made him forget entirely about anything but the fact that his wife looked glorious naked. Needless to say, running into the room, wielding a croquet mallet, wearing only a hastily tied robe, covered in sweat and followed by Hope in a sheet, brought the issue under immediate scrutiny.

 

Grace looked between them with wide, unsettled eyes, holding the offending branch while Jefferson and Hope frantically tried to make themselves look less guilty.

 

"It was only a branch," she announced flatly.

 

Hope responded first, hurrying to take the branch and soothe their daughter. "Oh, Grace, I'm sorry. Hey, baby, we didn't mean for you to--"

 

"Mama. I know that you and Papa have sex. That's how I was born."

 

Jefferson nearly had a heart attack, but Hope only stuttered and then stood up. "Oh--oh, uh, um. Of course. Well then… good. Do… do you have any questions?"

 

Grace shifted uncomfortably, pulled her hair around and started fiddling with it. Jefferson poorly stifled a humiliated sigh.

 

"Why do you make so much noise? The book doesn't say anything about noises…"

 

"Oh my god," Jefferson crumpled to the floor out of sheer horror. Hope was handling it so much better than him.

 

"The book probably doesn’t explain quite everything, darling. There's a lot more to… sexual intimacy than how it works. May I see this book of yours?"

 

"What are you doing?" Jefferson hissed after Grace left to retrieve the book.

 

"I'm educating our daughter using the tool she already has available to her," Hope hissed back. "What would you have me do? Pretend she's imagining things and insult her intelligence?!"

 

"No… I--I can't believe she heard us…"

 

"The washroom is quite acoustically generous. I suppose we should have considered that it would echo to other parts of the house."

 

Jefferson wanted to evaporate. Incapable of doing that, he tied his robe tighter and began picking up the shards of glass from the window.

 

"Thank you, baby. Oh, look. Illustrations, how lovely."

 

He kept his head down and left Hope to the accursed booklet, internally screaming.

 

"Okay, you see there? Where it mentions the act being biologically important as well as enjoyable in its own right? Do you understand what that means?"

 

"Biologically means to do with life, like that people have sex to have babies."

 

"Yes. Absolutely correct. That can be one reason, good."

 

Grace was quiet for a few seconds as Hope waited for her to figure the rest out on her own. "And…" she finally continued, "another reason is that it's… fun?"

 

"Yes. To help encourage people to continue making more people. Do you see?"

 

"So, Papa wasn't hurting you? Those sounds were because you were having fun?"

 

A piece of glass shattered further at Jefferson's feet and all attention turned to him for a brief, torturous second.

 

"No, baby, your papa wasn't hurting me. Not even a little--"

 

"Hope!"

 

She cleared her throat and put back on her teacher tone. "Your papa wouldn't hurt me. The noises were because we were enjoying ourselves."

 

"Does this mean that you want another baby? Am I going to have a younger brother or sister?!"

 

"Well… maybe. That depends on how my visit to the doctor goes in the morning. Would you like a baby brother or sister?"

 

"Yes! Babies are so cute. Marcy has a little brother and she gets to hold him and dress him in all these outfits and when he gets older she'll be able to play with him and teach him things. And Henry's baby uncle is so little and sweet. I bet my little brother would be even cuter. I know you can't make it a boy but it would be really neat if it was one."

 

"We'll see, hmm? Just don't get your hopes up too high, sweetie, okay? Your papa and I may not be able to." Hope was on her feet, guiding Grace out of the room.

 

"But you'll try really hard, right?"

 

"We'll try," Hope was actually laughing quietly. Jefferson couldn't believe her breeziness. He caught up to her after dumping the glass and covering the window. She was just closing Grace's door.

 

"That went rather well, I think," she muttered and tugged on the tie of his robe. "You want to go finish trying _really_ hard to make her a sibling?"

 

"No! That was horribly uncomfortable." He lurched away from her.

 

"What? Why? Now she knows and all her questions are answered and we don't have to worry about her finding out some other way."

 

"Yes, now she _knows."_ He felt like Hope wasn't quite comprehending the disturbing gravity of the situation.

 

"Jefferson, you silly man, she had already figured it out. She was confused and a little worried about it. Now she's neither. This is a good thing." She dropped the sheet from around her as soon as she stepped into their bedroom. "We can relax now, enjoy ourselves. Just… maybe not in there, because of its acoustic prowess, not while Grace is at home." She tapped her lips while looking at the bathroom, as flippant as if considering which tea to drink in the morning, not whether or not to further traumatize their daughter with their raucous sex.'

 

"Hope, she knows now. I don't know if we can ever do this while she's in the house again."

 

"Oh, Jefferson," it was a dismissive scoff. "Don't be so melodramatic. It's natural, she knows that, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. You don't want her growing up thinking love is shameful, do you?"

 

"No… but--"

 

"No 'buts', we have to set an example to show her it's nothing base or reprehensible, which she will think it if we treat it like something you hide and seek contrition for. By no means should we be flaunting its occurrence but on the other hand we shouldn't cease from it entirely. Just carry on normally and answer any questions she has and she'll be very well-adjusted. I know that's what you're worried about, us permanently scarring her, but you heard, she handled it very maturely. She's fine."

 

He edged away from her touch, causing Hope to sigh and give up.

 

"She may be fine, but…"

 

"Fine, Jefferson, fine. You're not comfortable with it. That's your prerogative. Let's go to sleep, then, or do you not want to do that with me either?"

 

"Now, that's not fair--"

 

"I'm teasing! My word, you've grown so literal! How the tables have turned." She pulled him down onto the bed, nestling his head onto her chest and began twirling her fingers through his hair. "Next you'll be expecting ladyfingers to be actual fingers and fireflies to be flaming insects."

 

"You savor the opportunities you get to tease me."

 

"Only a little, my love, but you make it so easy. Your skin's grown soft since I was away. Don't fret, I'll soon have you tough as before and jibing right back. Wait and see."

 

"Oh, I can hold my own still."

 

"Can you?"

 

"Mm-hmm."

 

"I don't believe you. You're frowning right now."

 

Jefferson rolled over, rested his chin on his hands, hands on her stomach. "You're manipulating me right now."

 

Hope grinned slyly. "A little. Is it working?"

 

He sat up and looked down the length of her body. She looked like she could consume him with her eyes, her limbs still just long enough to lure him in. It was tantalizing. It was working.

 

Hope hummed her satisfaction as he stirred to life. She had a way of getting what she wanted. Luckily, usually it was what Jefferson wanted as well. They tried really hard that night.  
 


	11. Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all.

That first morning's sunrise had been so lovely that, when Hope wakened now, she worried that she would miss that day's. It was possibly worth missing, though, entwined as she was in Jefferson. And it felt delectably good to be held by him this way, so warm, so sheltered, so desired. He was deeply asleep, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing rustling the hair on her cheek and pressing his chest to her back. Hope seriously contemplated nestling closer to him and drifting right back to sleep with him, but he was so deeply asleep and that sunrise had been so lovely.

 

So, instead, she slowly and gently pulled his arm away from her waist, disentangled her feet, and then eased her head and hair from the cradle of his other arm. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she whispered she'd right back. The floor wasn't cold but it felt it in comparison to Jefferson and Hope padded all the more quickly to the windows. When the curtains separated, she sighed her relief. The sky was still a deep blue, freckled with black just at her eye line, a few fingers of pink just blossoming up and out, leaving smeared trails of orange and purple in their wake. Smiling at its beauty, Hope tiptoed back to the bed. This world was a strange one, but it did have its merits, this being the most resplendent of them.

 

Jefferson had rolled onto his back with her absence, a furrow between his brows. Even in his sleep he fretted now. That melted away, though, when Hope curled up again beside him. He hummed and shifted immediately, turning to wrap around her, a hand on her bottom, the other sunk in her hair and hugging her to his chest. She kissed him over the heart but then squirmed against him, trying to turn around it. He wasn't having that.

 

"I can't see," she grunted, pushing at his arm.

 

Jefferson responded sleepily against the top of her head, "it's a good thing we don't have neighbors on that side, because they sure would be able to see." He squeezed a cheek and then loosened his grip, letting her spin around in his arms. "I thought you were gone for a minute there."

 

"You _dreamt_ I was gone, but I was here, just across the room."

 

"Mmm, you smell good." He buried his face in her hair and ran his hands over her.

 

"Thank you. I do my best. You know, I wish the windows would open. I like to feel the sunrise as well as see it."

 

"I'll have Marco unseal them when he gets around to installing the new banisters." His words warmed her ear, were followed by a gentle tug of his teeth. Either he'd forgotten what had happened the night before or was so relieved she was still beside him he didn't care, because he was pressed hot and hard up against her. "What do you like to feel about it?"

 

Hope smiled, admired the dawning painting in front of her, her loving man behind her. With an arch of her back she grinded against him everywhere he touched her. Need against her bum, hand on her breast, mouth on her ear.

 

"I like that I can feel the world waking up with the warmth of the breeze."

 

"Warmth, hmm?" He pressed back against her, moved his mouth, hot and soft to her neck.

 

"…how those first rays of light almost tickle through the air," she added, half-gasping when he brushed over her with feather-light touch.

 

"Warmth and tickling. I can help with that."

  
 

"…if the rains are near, how the water beads on the skin with the dew on the grass…"

 

"Like sweat." His fingers fell lazily over her, in smooth, sweeping patterns.

 

"…besides, the fresh air always gave you gooseflesh and tousled your hair just the right way. I like that." Hope took one more look at the fire burst of the rising sun before throwing back her head. It was just as lovely with its glow brightening in Jefferson's eyes and warming on his skin.

 

They were quiet this time, playful and quick, but also quiet. Hope found herself giggling afterwards, pushing his fingertips away from where they were still tracing those swirling shapes and tickling her.

 

"I think I somehow love you even more this morning," he murmured, looking up at her.

 

"You may still be drunk," she joked, knowing full well that was impossible after that performance. "But, I'm fairly certain I love you more each day, except for when you're irritating me, then I love you the same amount as the day prior."

 

"Mmm, you're so funny. You're also so beautiful all sex-soaked, but that's not how we should take you to the hospital. Up. Off of me, woman."

 

"Off of me, woman," Hope mimicked him but swung her leg over his hips and then hopped off the bed. "Bathe, woman. You are filthy. Mustn't let the doctors know that we engaged in sexual congress this morning. It is shameful--eee!" She squealed as he caught her around the waist and hauled her to the bathroom. "Unhand me, sir! I am a lady!"

 

"Shhh!" He laughed and set her down in front of the shower. "Remember, this echoes."

 

"I _am_ a lady."

 

"A saucy one, but yes, a lady. In you go." He started the water, nice and warm and the nudged her inside. "I'm going to wake Grace and get her into the bathroom." He pulled on a shirt and shorts as he walked out and left Hope to laugh with herself. She was so happy.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting both Hope and Grace to the hospital was a small battle in itself, getting himself to stay inside the hospital with them was another one for Jefferson. The place made him uneasy, which was really inopportune because it just so happened to make Hope fidgety and nervous and Grace downright skittish. She hated shots. He neglected to tell her she was getting three, he would pay for that later.

 

Hope on the other hand, wasn't put off by what was going to happen to her there but rather what she would find out about herself. She repeatedly announced that she didn't want to know, that they should just go and leave it up to nature, but then she'd sit back down and mumble about not being able to stand not knowing if she knew she could know.

 

Every time someone even looked at Jefferson he felt his hackles rise. He was fully aware that no one thought that he was schizophrenic anymore or that he should maybe be locked up in the cellar, but his flight response was long ingrained. And that one nurse really didn't like him still after he drugged her. When she showed up he sunk as far into his seat as he could.

 

The nurse handling their files showed up soon after that and called Grace's name, informing Hope and Jefferson that she'd have her wait in that same waiting room once she was finished. Grace edged away looking pitiful, Hope starting up saying she didn't need to know, that she'd rather stay with her baby. Another nurse stepped forward then and cut her short by calling her name. She flashed a terrified glance at Jefferson but he was already standing and walking her to the exam room.

 

Whale, ass that he was, made them wait an extra ten minutes, then showed up acting familiar, talking about déjà vu, and making Jefferson dangerously open to just throttling him instead of letting him examine Hope. Her hand grounded him, though, soft and cool on his arm, and he unclenched his jaw, relaxed his shoulders. It was good, too, because this time, Victor could actually help them.

 

"You look clean to me," he announced several long and intricate tests later. "Memory retention is normal, reflexes good, heart, lungs etc. all normal, even the MRI reads standard. Whatever those berries did to you in the Enchanted Forest, it flushed out while you were a rock or when you were brought here. That's my studied opinion. What isn't my opinion, that is what is fact, is that you have a clean bill of health. I'll pass your chart onto Dr. Crane. Margie will see you over to the OB/GYN wing."

 

He held out a hand to Hope then Jefferson. "Glad I could give you good news this time. Good day."

 

The wait in the other wing of the hospital was somehow simultaneously less anxiety-ridden and more stressful. They knew that Hope was healthy on the large-scale level, that she'd recovered from both her practical poisoning and from being a crystal for several decades. They didn't know though if that recovery was sweeping or if it applied only to things that hadn't been completely damaged before. Her ability to conceive could fall under either and the uncertainty left the two of them disquieted by anticipation.

 

"I had a dream about this," Jefferson whispered to Hope when her grip on his hand reached a painful pitch. "It was before you came back. We were lying in bed talking about little things. Right before I woke up you told me that you'd spoken to Dr. Crane and he'd told you we had a chance."

 

"You dreamt that, huh?" She asked, bouncing in her chair.

 

"Mm-hmm. The funny thing was, the other part of the dream ended up being true."

 

"What was the other part?"

 

"You told me that Emma Swan and Snow White had returned to this land from home and that I needed to apologize to them."

 

Hope tittered nervously, "so, even in your dreams I'm always right?"

 

"Yes, even in my dreams." He rubbed his thumb over hers and across the inside of her wrist. "I bet dream-you was right about this, too."  

  
 

"Hope?" A nurse in pink scrubs called out before she could answer.

 

Inside the exam room Hope's anxiety escalated to a whole new level. The little paper dress they asked her to put on didn't help any, nor the fact that she wasn't allowed anything underneath it.

 

"Are the… stirrups absolutely necessary?" Jefferson asked at Hope's head as the nurse helped her into the chair's contraption. She couldn't be comfortable like that, legs spread wide. That was confirmed by the way she was shaking under his hands.

 

"The stirrups allow the doctor to complete the examination quickly and efficiently. I know it's strange, especially if you don't have memories from this world, but it's for Hope's benefit." The nurse smiled and stepped to the door. "The doctor will be in shortly."

 

Jefferson was on pins and needles during the exam. Mostly because he could feel Hope was tense enough to shatter if jostled, but also because there was a man with his hand inside of her who wasn't him.

 

"And you've had your first child already. How long ago?"

 

Hope paused. She clearly wasn't sure how to answer that. "Well… for me it's been five years, for everyone else… forty."

 

The doctor nodded. "Yes, I read your chart. Very unusual, but I'd have to say five years seems about right. And you're looking to conceive again?"

 

"Yes. We're trying."

 

"Yes. Well, things feel normal. I'm going to draw some blood, since I can't tell otherwise from your unusual situation. The blood will test for certain hormones. I've taken a sample here, though I may need to take another at a different time after you've abstained for a stretch. That will test for the viability of your environment, though as you've already had a child the likelihood of that being problematic is small. How long did it take you to conceive your first?"

 

"Uh… weeks?"

 

The doctor chuckled quietly as he pushed his chair away from Hope and bagged a swab. "That's good. You can take your feet down now." He changed gloves and then started gathering materials to draw blood, looking at Jefferson for a moment. "And you're the father?"

 

He nodded.

 

"Right, well, we'll take a sample from you just in case. Diana at the desk will direct you to the room."

 

After negotiating a surprising and awkward situation due to the ambiguous meaning of 'sample', Jefferson returned to Hope's room and found her dressing again. "Are you alright? Dizzy?"

 

"Fine. Glad that's over with," she answered, snorting when she looked up at him. "You look flushed and guilty. I'm guessing your sample was more pleasant to give than mine."

 

"More pleasant in the end, yes, though not easy. I felt very pressured and the room was cold and sterile. It was confusing."

 

"Mmm, my poor Jefferson," she stood, a little unsteadily, and patted his cheek then slapped it lightly. "There. Now we're partially even, we can both complain now."

 

"You could slap harder, you know."

 

"Yes, but then I'd leave a mark. I don't want to make a scene and invite more questions from Grace." Hope quirked a grin and then threaded her arm through his. "Dr. Crane said that he'd have the results in two to four days, that the hospital would call the house when they finished."

 

"Good. Let's go find Grace, she's going to be cranky. I didn't tell her she had three shots waiting for her."

 

"Jefferson!"

 

He rubbed the spot on his arm she'd just smacked him. "She would have fought us so much harder."

 

"Yes. You're probably right. Well, then maybe a treat is in order. We can go to that... uh, diner with the cold dessert…"

 

"Ice cream."

 

"Yes. That. She'll forget all about it."

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days passed with a kind of idyllic serenity. Hope adjusted more and more every day to the oddities of this world and Jefferson relaxed steadily, like a spool of thread unwinding. Grace, Grace was a constant little engine of energy. Their routine folded easily around Hope and she incorporated seamlessly into daily activities. In fact, Jefferson frequently admitted to them going better with her there, though Hope wouldn't have known. She chose to believe him.

 

The biggest difference she brought, naturally, was the change to his alone time, which Jefferson referred to not as a change but a rescue. She rescued him from his times at night and in the mornings, during the day when Hope went to be with friends. Those moments were almost without fail filled with intimacy. They had many years to make up for and, beyond that, they'd assured Grace they would try hard to give her a little brother.

 

One exception to this arrived during the weekend. Hope and Jefferson had walked Grace to the pool, where one of her friends was having a party, and then, instead of galloping home to romp naked, they'd headed towards the town square. They needed to buy food for the big dinner they were preparing that night. Hope was not exactly happy with the change in their habits but she was behaving, mostly due to the fact that the grocery store fascinated her immensely.

 

By the time they arrived back home she was so excited about all the food they had bought, all of which she wanted to try because so much of it she'd never had before, she'd completely forgotten about pouting. Jefferson could just barely keep up with her. She was a whirlwind in the kitchen, and by this point she'd figured out how to work the appliances, so it was truly unstoppable, her outpour of enthusiasm. In a matter of hours, which felt like minutes, she'd put together several pies, a braised shoulder, a whole slew of vegetables and was cleaning all the summer fruits she could get her hands on to serve chilled. She really, really liked the refrigerator.

 

"Mmmm, oh Jefferson, it's like candy." She handed him a cube of the honeydew she'd just man-handled open. "And all cold it's going to be like snow-basked candy. Mmm! So scrumptious."

 

He grinned crookedly as she popped another piece into his mouth. "I'm glad you like it. It's almost five. We need to think about picking up Grace."

 

"Mm! Yes. Okay, the… pies have an hour and a half left on them. The lamb will need almost that long and then to rest. Vegetables can chill, fruit can chill… yes, okay, we can leave this here and go get her." Grabbing another piece of honeydew for the road, Hope set her knife in the sink and started checking oven temperatures and timers.

 

Jefferson edged around behind her, crowding her to the counter as she puttered.

 

"Okay, yes. I'm hurrying. There. All ready. Let's go." She turned around right into his chest. "Oof! Uh, excuse me, my love."

 

"I said we need to _think_ about picking up Grace. We have some time before we need to leave to pick her up." His hands were on her waist, slipped down to sink into her bottom and pull her close.

 

Hope fell into it without thinking, allowed herself to be swept up with a giggle. "I like your thinking."

 

The counter may have been biting into her back, the air a little too hot and their hands already sticky, but Jefferson tasted like sugar and felt even better than he tasted.

 

"This has the potential to become incredibly unsanitary and possibly dangerous." He grabbed Hope by the hips and carried her through into the sitting room. On the couch he returned to peeling her shirt off.

 

Hope hummed her encouragement at what his tongue was doing, reached for his zipper. "Oh… you do know your bottom is about to become public knowledge."

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Those front windows will leave nothing to the imagination," she said, lips on his scar. When he didn't stop she licked up his neck and sunk into another mind-numbing kiss. Mind-numbing except for the piercing ringing somewhere. It wasn't stopping.

 

"What is that?"

 

"Mm, ignore it," he replied, nosing her mouth back to his.

 

"No. What is it?"

 

He stopped and actually listened for a moment. "It's the phone. Oh. It's the phone." He sighed and stood up from the couch. "One minute."

 

Hope laid back down and watched him, shirt open, hair ruffled as he jogged to the phone. She couldn't just wait. He was just answering when she slipped her hands back underneath his shirt.

 

"Hello?" He looked down at her and shook his head, but he was smiling. "Yes, oh, that's fine." He mouthed 'the hospital' to her and Hope stopped, waiting instead with hands frozen in anticipation on his stomach.

 

"You did?" His eyes were blue again, blue and wide. "Okay. So, that means we should keep try-- really?" A deep sigh shuddered through him, eyes closed, and Hope began panicking. But then he smiled. "Thank you. Yes, you too."

 

Her heart was in her throat as Jefferson hung up the phone. "So?"

 

"That was Dr. Crane." Jefferson was grinning so widely that he set  Hope bouncing on her toes. "He had your blood test and he said we could by all means continue to try, but it looked like we may have already succeeded." Eyebrows raised nearly to his hair line, Jefferson waited for her to react. Instead she stared, unwilling to believe what that implied. Jefferson continued, smile spread to his voice. "He wants us to come in again later next week when it'll be more accurate and he can say for sure, but Hope… he thinks you're probably pregnant already."

 

"He said that?"

 

Jefferson nodded, his eyes intensely bright on her. "He said that."

 

"He thinks we're pregnant already!" Hope squealed and leapt onto Jefferson, legs around his waist. "We're going to have another baby, my love! Oh! We have to go get Grace! She'll be so excited! I wonder what it's going to be this time. Maybe a boy?"

 

"Maybe…" The tone to Jefferson's voice gave Hope pause. She stopped and gazed up at him, perfectly quizzical. His face was suddenly filled with worry. "Hope, this is real, isn't it?"

 

"Oh, you silly man. Yes, it's real." She brushed the hair back out of his face and kissed him tenderly. "It's very, wonderfully real."

 

He relaxed at her touch and Hope sighed deeply, thumbs running over his cheeks, brow, then jaw. "Good things do still happen, my dear Jefferson. Promise. Now," she tapped his hands under her legs and dropped to the floor. "Let's go share the news with our daughter. Hmm?"

 

"Of course, but wait." Jefferson stopped following her and reached into his pocket. "I wanted to put this on you when it was the only thing you were going to be wearing, but this moment seems appropriate all the same."

 

Hope hummed in delight as he pulled out a small woven silver ring. It was nearly identical to the one he'd slipped onto her finger the first time.

 

"There. Now everything's back to normal." He smiled warmly as Hope admired his handiwork.

 

'Thank you, my love. Your hand hasn't lost any of its craft these years. It's perfect." And it was. Hope simply couldn't imagine being any happier.

 

* * *

 

 

Delighted did not even begin to describe Hope's reaction to the news that they might have finally conceived again. The ring only heightened that. She was so elated, in fact, that, even after Jefferson advised against prematurely getting Grace's hopes up, the first thing Hope did upon reaching Grace at the party was to tell her point blank. It was ever so clear to everyone within hearing distance that the two were mother and daughter on that occasion, not that it was questionable at any other time. They giggled and hugged each other and just generally expressed their utter jubilance.

 

Jefferson stood a few steps behind, smiling in spite of himself. A few of the other parents, having naturally overheard the shouted news, approached and offered their congratulations, but surprisingly mostly to him. They didn't really know Hope, but they had gotten fairly well acquainted with him. He had acquaintances. That tickled him a little and he smiled even bigger as they commented on how proud and excited he must be, how lovely his family was, and how precious that child was bound to be.

 

Once Grace had calmed from ecstatic to giddily thrilled she extracted herself from Hope's hands and hugged Jefferson around the waist. "I'm going to be a big sister," she said with not some small amount of pride.

 

"And an excellent one you will be, too," he agreed with her, tapping her nose playfully. "Now, we should probably get straight home, we've got a big dinner tonight. Remember? And you need to wash up first."

 

They didn't get straight home, though. Instead, Grace announced to every person she clapped eyes on that she was going to be a big sister. It took close to an hour to make the normally fifteen minute walk home. Hope did nothing to discourage her and Jefferson didn't either after she hauled him along behind her and announced it so proudly the first time. When he'd received the news from the doctor, Jefferson had been excited, for Hope, to see her face. When she'd burst out in joy, he'd been gratified in that, but also hesitant. That hesitation had extended to telling Grace; it was good news but he couldn't quite join in in reveling in it. It was like he was a spectator. But when Grace marched up to Dr. Hopper and said those words, that her mama and papa were going to have a baby and she was going to be a big sister, in a flash it was real for him. He had literally everything that he wanted in this life. As Dr. Hopper extended his hand in congratulations, that realization bubbled up out of him. Jefferson laughed and shook his hand, pulling Hope and Grace to him.

 

"There's going to be one more in our happy little family."

 

That was it. That was thing he hadn't allowed himself to accept until then. That this was his family, his, all together with him, healthy and happy. It was real. And now it was growing. They could do anything. Jefferson laughed again and clapped Archie on the shoulder before walking on with his girls. He was as elated and blissful as Hope and Grace had been at first, maybe more, walking home. It felt like old times, coming back from market, smiling without thinking about it, without a care in the world. Just happy.

 

The mood didn't fade from its vibrant highpoint after that as the three of them went about finishing preparations for the family dinner. Grace chattered about baby names and her responsibilities as an older sister until Hope sent her up the stairs to get cleaned up and dressed, of course with a smile. That smile hadn't left her lips. If it were even possible, it had gotten broader. She too seemed to have processed the news over a period of time, one shorter than Jefferson's but still it was a gradual evolution of gladdening. All at once now she was giddy, blissfully content and filled with a kind of joyous awe. That had hit Jefferson like a wave that would not ebb.

 

It was still floating him high when their guests arrived. Hope was still skipping around the kitchen when the doorbell rang, finishing the dishes with the compulsive perfectionism they both shared. But that meal was her masterpiece, so Jefferson answered the door.

 

A collective look of surprise flashed over their faces but it was Emma who spoke its source. "You look like things are going well here."

 

Jefferson must have been infectious because even Emma started grinning in her mild incredulity.

 

"They are," he responded and showed them inside. "Couldn't be better." He shook the Prince's hand and then the pirate's, winking at Henry and finally, though keeping his distance, waving at the new prince and his mother.

 

Snow White, paragon of virtue as she was reputed to be, seemed to have completely forgotten that the last time she was in this house it was because Jefferson had bound, gagged and hauled her there. That, or she'd forgiven him after Emma's deliverance of his apologies. She shifted the baby to one arm and held out her hand.

 

"Congratulations, Jefferson. I'm so happy you got your family back. It's such a relief, isn't it?" She smiled brightly, her sincerity unmistakable.

 

"Thank you, it is. And… I don't know if Emma told you--"

 

She shook her head, smile still in place. "All's forgiven. No need to apologize."

 

"Well, not everything," the Prince stepped up behind her, sternness giving way to a begrudging grin, "but you're making good headway." The likeness between father and daughter was conspicuous in that moment.

 

Jefferson bobbed his head at him as well. "I'm sorry a--about... that and then about before with the hat--"

 

"I understand. I do. Understand but don't condone, love can make a person do crazy things."

 

Snow nudged him in the ribs. "Not crazy. Impassioned, ill-advised or reckless things, but not crazy."

 

"No," Jefferson laughed, "I was out of my mind and I was wrong. Again, I'm sorry."

 

"See? He admitted to it." David looked at his wife with a satisfied nod and then extended his hand again to Jefferson. "We're going to be fine."

 

Ushering them past, Jefferson closed the door and then edged around the milling group. "This is the front room, dining room's through here. Bathroom's down the hall." He backed into the large room next to the kitchen, and stepped aside from the table as they found their seats. Just then Hope burst through the door, humming and carrying the first of the dishes.

 

"Oh! Hello!"

 

Jefferson put his arm around her. "For those who haven't met her yet, this is Hope, my wife." He practically sang the words, it was so wonderful to say.

 

Hope, gifted hostess that she'd always been, made the rounds and introductions, laying down the dish and asking for drink preferences as she went. He watched with a sense of warm peace. This was her element. Everything was her element, but she was remarkably good at charming people with her whimsical enthusiasm. He caught her eye and then left her to it, searching out their daughter.

 

Grace he found singing in her room, readying her camera and scribbling in a notepad. "Papa," she rushed him as soon as she heard him enter, "I think I have the perfect names. If it's a boy, and I hope it is, he should be called Brandon. And if it's a girl, which would also be great because then I can play with her hair and dress her--anyway, if it's a girl her name could be Felicity. Brandon is a plant, because you and Mama love the forest so much and Felicity, well, obviously because it's like Mama's name and mine. Hope, Grace, Felicity."

 

"Your mama and I will definitely think about it, baby. Thank you." He ruffled her hair and then patted her on the back. "Down the stairs you go. We've got company."

 

"Henry's here?"

 

"Sure is."

 

Grace darted out of the room and was down the stairs before Jefferson reached the head of them. She was on a mission. Jefferson heard it from upstairs.

 

"Henry! Ms. Blanchard! We have the best news! Hi, Mr. Nolan, Ms. Swan, Captain Hook." She was bouncing beside her chair when he caught up in the dining room. "Papa, Mama, can I tell them?"

 

Hope shared his gaze, a glint in her eye. She simply shrugged. It was up to him, she didn't mind either way. Jefferson chuckled and nodded. "Go ahead, Grace."

 

She stood up straight, folded her hands in front of her and then beamed around the room. "My mama and papa are going to have another baby. I'm going to have a younger sibling!"

 

A flurry of congratulations followed, fellow recent second-time parents understanding the delight and joining in, Henry being his usual buoyant self. Emma and Killian's responses were unique.

 

"This explains the Xanax high you all seem to be on."

 

"Did not waste any time, did you?"

 

"Emma!" Snow scolded, eyes wide. She nodded towards where Jefferson was standing, David hiding a grin. "Hook, you too. Come now."

 

"Sorry, Jefferson, Hope but seriously, admittedly you do seem, like, unusually happy."

 

"I'm not sorry, mate. That was a fact. It's not even been a week."

 

"And we're happy for them being happy and so successful," Snow responded diplomatically and then grinned at Hope and Jefferson.

 

Hope saw the humor in the situation and giggled. "This," she smoothed her hand over the back of Jefferson's neck, "is how he is normally. His unusual became normal and contrariwise there for a while, but things are all sorted out again. As for the speed… we think it may have happened before I had my little accident. Just delayed it a bit."

 

"Well, enjoy it," David said, putting his arm around Snow and grabbing his son's toe. "It's just as strange and full of surprises as the first one, so far as we can tell." He looked at Emma and then to Snow.

 

Jefferson didn't know but could almost fathom the pain that glance revealed. He instinctively trailed his hand through Hope's curls, placed the other on Grace's back. It wasn't something he was going to have to worry about again. That was beatific.

 

"Yeah," Emma chimed in. She nodded and leaned to Killian, eye on Henry across the table. "Enjoy your happily ever after." There was humor in her tone but not of sarcasm or cynicism. It was reflective with a hint of personal irony to it. "You got your storybook ending."

 

"Aw, that's lovely. We'll be sure to, thank you," Hope responded for them both, bustling around, opening dishes, and handing out serving spoons. "Let's eat, shall we?"

 

A murmur of approval went up around the table, food being divvied out and complimented. Jefferson sat down last, having settled Grace with her camera not on the table and after pushing Hope's chair in for her. He grinned at Emma, understanding at her comment passed along, and then kissed Hope's cheek.

 

It wasn't an ending, it was just one more chapter. And he intended to cherish every detail.

 

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they all lived happily ever after... until season 4.


End file.
